


The Band

by bornforwar_archivist



Series: Forever [1]
Category: Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-31
Updated: 2006-12-31
Packaged: 2018-12-15 01:38:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11795748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bornforwar_archivist/pseuds/bornforwar_archivist
Summary: By Nancy LorenzGabrielle the Bard of Potedaia is reborn. Now, in the 21st Century, she has a new life, new opportunities, with old friends and far too familiar scenarios. With a love she lost and her best friend in tow, amazing adventures fill her life as the Bard lives again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Delenn, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Born For War](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Born_For_War), which closed in 2015. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in March 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Born For War collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bornforwar).
> 
> Dramatis Personae:
> 
> Gabrielle Baird: Freelance Writer  
> Joxer/'Jock' Callaghan: Singer/Musician  
> Zena Wohlters: Martial arts instructor, National San Shou Champion.  
> Arran/'Ar' Ioulianos: Club bouncer/bar tender/rhythm guitarist.  
> Andrew: Bass player and errant thief of small things.  
> Callista: Singer in another band and major rival of Zena's in martial arts.  
> Aphrodite Ioulianos: Fashion editor in magazine and sister to Arran.  
> Denise Ioulianos: Teenage goth, hard-nosed cousin to Arran. 
> 
> Aural Inspiration: "Sabotage" by the Beastie Boys.

Chapter One: The Temple Beat   
  
The writer watched the singer stack the amp, ridiculous noises coming from his mouth, and as he turned to his friend and seeming partner in crime, he laughed - the most ridiculous laugh she had ever heard. She sighed. And he seemed so dashing and with it when she first saw him. It gave her a strange sense of recognition, seeing him amongst the faux ruins of the Ancient Grecian style night club, but she shook it idly. She looked at the walls, and the stylized illustrations of warriors in small skirts and wielding spears. One image caught her eye, a woman with long ebony hair, her face fierce, in her hand a round thing. Sitting at a small hip-high table, she let her mind get caught up in the pictures on the wall.   
  
"Hey!"   
  
She looked up, the young man in black she had met earlier leaping off the stage and striding over to her. Abruptly he stumbled, an odd yelp coming from him. Swearing at a cord that had wrapped itself around his foot he pulled it away and approached the table she was at.   
  
"Dammit," he said under his breath, "Stupid-" He stopped, leaning on the table with is forearms, blushing and looking up at her, "Gabrielle, Hi."   
  
"Hi Joxer," she smiled. His eyes were large and warm with affection, and she felt an odd flutter within her.   
  
"So glad you could make it," he said, obviously attempting to sound suave. "How'd that meeting go?"   
  
"Fine," she said, "They were pleased with the novel. It'll be printed in June."   
  
"Cool," he said, "I'll have to keep my eye out for it."   
  
She cocked a brow with doubt, "You read period piece romances?"   
  
"I read anything," he nodded, looking comically uncertain, "It's a chick book isn't it?"   
  
"Totally," she smirked and he nodded.   
  
"'Kay," he pressed his lips together, "I guess that's what I get for showing off."   
  
She could only grin, his eagerness to please somehow a relief. Meeting him in general was like a relief. As if a whole eternity was somehow fulfilled.   
  
"I thought about you," she said, "In the meeting."   
  
His face lit up, a cheeky grin on his features, "You did?"   
  
"Mmm-hmm," she nodded, "Iiii thought about, how much more fun it was, watching you make an idiot of yourself in front of me than it was listening to my boss drone on about sales demographics and the average woman."   
  
"I do my best," Joxer said wryly, "Do I really act that stupid around you?"   
  
"No," she said, "I was only kidding."   
  
"I thought so, it's just sometimes..."   
  
"You never know," she finished.   
  
His eyes met hers for a moment, and he smiled.   
  
*Thwack*   
  
Joxer bolt upright, turning and glaring at the man behind him who wielded a twisted shirt that had just been whipped against Joxer's bent over bottom. The man sniggered and pulled at Joxer's arm.   
  
"Come on man," the man grumbled, "Stop flirting with chicks and get back to work!"   
  
"Wait," Joxer yanked the guy back, "Andrew - this is Gabrielle... the one I told you about?"   
  
"Oh right," The older man smirked suddenly, "The girl with the amazing green eyes..."   
  
Gabrielle felt her cheeks rise in a blush, and she looked to Jock with a raised brow.   
  
"Aaah, ah ha," He blushed furiously and grit his teeth at the man, "Andrew, I am *so* going to get you for that."   
  
"Come on dope," the guy said, "We need to do a sound test." Before Andrew yanked Joxer away a final yank, he bowed to Gabrielle, running a finger over the moustache of his goatee. "A pleasure," he said.   
  
She watched the two men stagger off towards the stage, pushing and jeering at each other.   
  
"You're so full of shit, Andy," Joxer muttered, climbing back up onto the stage. Gabrielle grinned. She decided she liked musicians.   
  
Jock... Joxer... He was such a Joxer. He tried to be Jock, she could see that, but somehow he dismally failed, and it was adorable.   
  
"Ewwwuuun-Thhooooooowww, yeeewuuuunnnn Teooooohh TOOH! TOOH!"   
  
Gabrielle smiled as Joxer repeated the numbers in the microphone, going higher, then deeper, his timbre running through her from the amps. She shuddered.   
  
"There you are... Been looking everywhere!"   
  
Gabrielle glanced up and grinned, "Zena!"   
  
"Hey," the woman smiled, "This is a departure..."   
  
Gabrielle looked around herself, nodding slowly as the woman took her arm from around her and sat down at the small table, "You got that right..."   
  
"So who's this guy you want me so desperately to see?"   
  
Gabrielle gave an impish smile, and pointed to the guy at centre stage.   
  
"Him. The cute one."   
  
Zena frowned, pulling out a bottle of soft drink and taking off the top, "The one with the goatee?"   
  
"No!" Gabrielle grinned incredulously, "The other one!"   
  
"The dope with the nose," Zena said with a curled lip, "Nice, if you're into that sort of thing..."   
  
She hit her friends arm and sighed, "Yes, he is nice, and I'm very into him-"   
  
Zena glared at her friend, who blushed, cursing to herself.   
  
"What I *meant* to say was..."   
  
"No," Zena shook her head with a smirk, "Don't bother. I know what you mean."   
  
The writer sighed, tilting her head and gazing at the man on stage, "He tripped over before... it was so cute."   
  
Zena gave her friend another glare, a sidewards one, "Oh God..."   
  
Gabrielle sat up, meeting her friend's look, "What?"   
  
"It's Peter all over again," she said, "Except with a weirder name and a more hopeless profession that the army."   
  
The blonde gasped, "Not true! This is totally different! God, Zena, I can't believe you even brought that up!"   
  
Zena shrugged, her deadpan gaze going back to the stage. Gabrielle closed her eyes, trying to ward back the pain the mention of that name brought.   
  
Guitar strum, guitar strum, "Hmmmmm - ya de da de daaaaa."   
  
Gabrielle glanced up, her heart caught in her chest. "Oh my God...Zena did you hear that?"   
  
Zena swallowed a sip of soda, her eyes ringing just as her friends' was. Joxer's humming as he warmed up his voice filled the mostly empty club that was a café during the daylight hours.   
  
"Darling said I want youuuu," the voice rang out again as he plucked at the guitar, "Darling said do youuuuu?"   
  
The writer felt her heart tremor again. This was too much. She sighed, the snippets of music that the man sampled and swapped and changed to not enough for her. She looked to Zena, who was beginning to be equally entranced.   
  
"I didn't know Joxer was a good singer," she said. Zena looked at her, snorting.   
  
"His name's Joxer?" she laughed, "Weird."   
  
"Oh yeah," Gabrielle sniggered back, "And 'Zena' is an entry right out of 'Mother's Book of Favourite Traditional Names'."   
  
"Up yours," said Xena with a wry smirk.   
  
"Back atcha," chuckled Gabrielle.   
  
"Hey Gabrielle."   
  
Gabrielle glanced around her, finally meeting the deep brown eyes of the muscled man she'd seen Joxer talking to earlier that day. She saw him regularly at the club next to the lunch bar she frequented, he was either behind the bar serving her drinks, or saying goodnight, doing his job of bouncer at the door. "Hey, Arran. What are you doing here?"   
  
"Jock wanted me to come and check out his band," he said, "Said they were looking for a new lead guitarist after Jett left for Britain."   
  
"Aah," Gabrielle nodded, "I see."   
  
She looked to her best friend, who'd gone unusually quiet.   
  
"Zena, how's things?"   
  
She spared a dark look at the part-time bouncer, a curl to her top lip, "Fine."   
  
"Mind if I sit down?"   
  
"Yes," she snapped, but the burly fellow took a seat between to two women nonetheless. Gabrielle smirked at Arran, his perseverance with her best friend nothing if not endearing.   
  
"So, you signed on for any more books, Gab?"   
  
Gabrielle looked to Arran and nodded, "A few more yeah. They said I was welcome to try new publishers after that but I probably won't. They've been to good to me to just give up on."   
  
Arran nodded, "I see."   
  
Joxer jumped down from the stage suddenly, walking out into the centre of the dance area and motioning to Andrew who walked up to the mike.   
  
"One... Yewwwuuuuun.... TEhhooowaaaah..."   
  
Joxer motioned back to the stage, listening for the perfect mix and motioning to the sound engineer to tweak certain levels. Gabrielle watched him step back and forth on the faux-paved dance floor, his bottom perfectly packed in the black denim pants he was wearing.   
  
"Oh no," Arran groaned suddenly. Gabrielle turned around, noticing where Arran's despair was directed at. "Watch out, here comes Vonda Shepard."   
  
"Now now," Zena said with a dark smirk, "Vonda at least tries to sing."   
  
It was Gabrielle's turn to smirk, "Callista just screams into the mic like a cat on heat."   
  
Arran chuckled suddenly, inspiring a seething glare from the aforementioned Callista. Her hair hung in limp crazy platinum locks, the shaggy slag look perfected on her part by two week dark regrowth at the roots. Her large brown eyes were instant poison, her walk a slinky alluring dance of temptation. Her mouth hung open in a charming grin of surprise, her gangly muscled arm snaking around the broad chiselled shoulders of Arran. A tight t-shirt touting "SPOILED" clung to her lithe body, dark blue denim pants with shaggy patches at the knees and chunky Doc Martin boots completing her rough haggard facade.   
  
"Callista," he smirked, "You're out early today. Don't you turn to dust if you're out before 5pm?"   
  
"Funny," she said with a smirk of her own, "I was just wondering if you've reconsidered my offer. You know how disappointing Vanessa was as a -"   
  
"Shag," muttered Gabrielle suddenly. Callista glared at her and continued.   
  
"As a guitarist," she said, "You're the best I've seen."   
  
Arran folded his burly arms, raising a dark brow at her, "I'm actually considering joining Jock's band."   
  
"Jock?" Her eyes were wide with disbelief, "The jerk who can't even cross the stage without even tripping on a guitar lead?"   
  
"He may be klutzy but the guy can wail," he replied, "He has the knack Cal."   
  
She hissed quietly, eyeing the subject of their conversation as he leapt down from the stage, nearly toppling over in the process. His eyes danced on the form of Callista, worry growing in them at the sight of her near Gabrielle. He frowned.   
  
"Callista," he said suddenly, edging around Gabrielle, "What are you doing here?"   
  
"Playing 'Let's be Arran's bad smell for today'," said Zena.   
  
Joxer frowned, looking to Zena, "You're a friend of Arran?"   
  
Zena glared at him. "No."   
  
Arran nodded, "Yes."   
  
"Uhh..." Joxer looked between them.   
  
"They know each other," Gabrielle said suddenly, "Zena and I frequent the bar you work at now. We know Arran cause he works there too."   
  
"Oh, okay... and you know Callista?"   
  
"Barely," Callista said, pointing her delicate nose in the air, "I'm just discussing Arran's future with Hot Spandex..."   
  
Arran snorted, shaking his head suddenly, "Yeah - my LACK of one." He unwound Callista's arm from his shoulder and turned away from her. Her mouth tightened into a little pucker, and her eyes settled on Joxer.   
  
"So what are you going to do - join Jock-strap's little band?"   
  
Arran looked to the ceiling, "I might."   
  
"Yeah well if weepin' and wailin's your gig, fine! Just don't come crawling to me when you start getting old grannies for groupies!" With a final hiss she turned, skulking out of the café with wide brown eyes filled with hate.   
  
"Psycho," muttered Joxer.   
  
"You said it," Gabrielle sighed.   
  
"Pity she's the main act tonight."   
  
Gabrielle double took. "What?!"   
  
Zena nodded, pointing to the poster up on the wall. In large shocking writing was 'Hot Spandex', underneath it in scrawly writing, "supported by: The BARDS". Gabrielle's jaw dropped.   
  
"But your singing is a thousand times better than hers!"   
  
Joxer cocked a lip with amusement, "Uhm, Gabrielle - you haven't heard me sing yet."   
  
"I have," she said, "Little bits - you were damned good!"   
  
Joxer blushed, toeing the floor, "I was okay I guess..."   
  
"Oh God," sighed Arran, "Is this going to go on all night?"   
  
"I'm afraid so," Zena said, "The saccharine in the room is at puking point."   
  
Joxer's smile dropped from his face, and Gabrielle squeezed his hand, "Don't mind them - they get like that when they're together... or apart... in fact - they're just like that." She nodded, "Never mind."   
  
Joxer nodded, a sigh of relief leaving him, "Okay."   
  
"I'm really looking forward to hearing you sing again," Gabrielle said, leaning forward, "Do you write your own music?"   
  
"Sure, yeah," Joxer nodded, "Mom got me a ukelele when I was just a little tyke and well - I been writing ever since."   
  
"I couldn't be bothered with the instruments," Zena said suddenly, "Singing's my thing."   
  
"That and kicking ass," Gabrielle smirked.   
  
Zena eyed her, "Damned straight!"   
  
"And how I love watching her work," Arran shuddered suddenly, leaning in towards her. Zena smirked, her hand sliding down. With a sudden gnash of her teeth she took a grip of something, something that caused Arran's jaw to drop in agony.   
  
"LEGGO!" he squeaked, "NOW! GO LET GO PLEASE!"   
  
"Promise to be good?" she said slyly.   
  
"YES LEGGO!"   
  
At that she released her grip, Arran letting out a relieved sigh.   
  
"Damn!" he gasped, "Do you have to do that?"   
  
"Wow," Joxer gulped, "Talk about ball-breaker."   
  
Gabrielle chuckled, Zena glaring at him.   
  
"Smart-ass," she growled, "I like you."   
  
Joxer grinned, nodding at the woman a moment.   
  
"Price check on Jock Callaghan, price check!"   
  
Joxer closed his eyes as the deep voice rumbled over the speakers. He thumbed towards the stage and looked apologeticly to his company, "That's my call guys, I'll see you in half an hour."   
  
"Okay," Gabrielle smiled sweetly, her eyes following Joxer's bottom after the sweet man smiled and waved at her, walking towards the stage. She sighed, "He's got a great ass."   
  
Arran rolled his eyes, causing Zena to smirk.   
  
"You're right," the brunette said, "He does."   
  
Arran glared at her, standing, "Excuse me? Have you seen mine lately? I mean - he doesn't even work out!"   
  
Gabrielle now rolled her eyes, "Down boy..."   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The lights were down, the tables packed with rough scraggly types. Their noise and chatter filled the air, less admirable colourful metaphors being exchanged between many of the rowdy patrons. Coughs and mumbles heralded a slow quietening as the lights lifted, focused on the stage, the rest of the room cast in darkness. One tall man got on the stage, his trim goatee and short hair at odds with his loose silk shirt and tight black pants. He hefted his bass guitar, bowing at the audience before taking a seat. The drummer jumped up onto stage next, wild blonde hair sticking up from his head at odd angles, his large blue eyes evident even in the coloured hues of the stage lights. He waggled his drumsticks at them with a grin before taking his seat. A woman slinked out onto the stage, dark hair, tall, and with a bow she took her seat at a small electric piano. Finally, all the other lights fell on the stool taking centre stage, where a microphone stand awaited a singer. A hush fell upon the audience as the dark shape of someone skipping up the steps onto the stage stirred from the left. Soon, the figure entered the light, all lithe legs clad in shiny black vinyl, chunky boots and light breezy brown silk shirt that fluttered open as he sat down on the stool, the smooth pale skin of his chest bare underneath.   
  
She held her breath, waiting for him to begin. His dark eyes scanned the audience, even though she knew he couldn't see a thing past the stage lights.   
  
"Hi," he said with a easy smile, "Thanks for turnin' up, it's great to have you here."   
  
Someone female hooted enthuseasticly.   
  
"Thanks," he grinned in the direction of the outburst, "I have a fan. Anyway - we're the Bards, and we're supporting Hot Spandex-"   
  
The room burst into applause, and she frowned as she looked around her.   
  
"Yeah, Hot Spandex, and they'll be on in an hour. For now - enjoy."   
  
He turned, nodding to Andrew, a thick lumbering beat singing from the low-range guitar.   
  
The beat filled the room, the tune simple yet mesmerising. The lead singer, Joxer, lifted his lips to the microphone that glinted in the red spotlight. His dark brown eyes dragged a lusty gaze over the audience, the odd female wail filling the air. The lust was special, unique. The lust was for song, for perfect, simple, elegant song.   
  
"Ooooohm...."   
  
Her breath held in her throat as his tremulous voice floated out from the amps.   
  
"Can you hear me?" his spoken husky voice asked as a rhythm rose up behind him from rousing hi-hat, "Can you heaaar me love?"   
  
She barely surpressed the "yes..." that fell from her mouth.   
  
With a burst Joxer ravaged the guitar with sensual skipping strumming, the beat lifting and whirling. She felt her foot tapping to the easy rhythm.   
  
"Honey my love, with a slip of the glove, life's searchin' it's wealth for a girl like you. All pretty brown hair right down to there, blue eyes flashin' like the sky so blue..."   
  
Gabrielle felt a twinge in her heart. He had described the keyboardist perfectly. All six foot of her. Her similarity to her best friend was haunting. In fact... one could assume they were sisters, or even twins. The woman had a tiny skirt on, her legs going on forever. She sighed.   
  
Joxer was an amazing singer. His voice soared effortlessly, his eyes closing in sweet bliss of the music leaving him. She was sure she'd never heard such a sacred sound in all her life. She smiled slowly, her mind stepping into the gentle current of sound.   
  
"Gee Gabrielle," came a voice, "You wanna cigarette after this is over?"   
  
Gabrielle looked at her best friend from the corner of her eyes, a patient firmness in her features, "I'm just enjoying the music."   
  
"Sure," Arran nodded, flicking his cigarette on the edge of an ash tray at the table, "Now get your hand out of your skirt."   
  
Zena scowled, "That's sick. See that's the difference between you and me. I allude. That takes brains. You're just vulgar."   
  
"That takes balls," Arran interjected with a self-assured grin.   
  
"You guys," Gabrielle sighed, "Will you leave it till the break? I really wanna listen to this!"   
  
"Well it's not our fault the amps are so damned quiet!"   
  
"They're not," Gabrielle said, "You're supposed to be listening to them!"   
  
Zena widened her eyes silently, miming a nagging fishwife as she lit a cigarette. She held it up and bawked.   
  
"Huh? What the fuck am I doing? I don't even smoke anymore!"   
  
"I gave it to you," Arran said matter of factly.   
  
"I don't want your crappy hand-rolled cigarette."   
  
Arran kept the deadpan look on his face, "It's not a cigarette, and it'd be much better if you didn't smoke it out here."   
  
"Ohhh..." Zena sniffed it and eyed Arran, "This isn't laced..."   
  
"No," he said.   
  
A mischevious look strick the dark-haired woman and she grinned, "Okay!"   
  
Gabrielle ignored her best friend grabbing the arm of Arran, pulling him to the toilet area of the night-club. She shook her head tiredly. She swore her best friend was gonna get herself into trouble one of these days. Not the usual trouble, she was always into that. The bad trouble that lead to bad things. Somehow she knew that Zena was safe. There was a strength in her, a goodness and kindness in the hardened soul that escaped a lot of people's perceptions. Joxer angled the guitar up as if tagging a prize fish from a lake, the riff he pulled from the strings forming effortlessly in the darkness. Her lips spread to a smile, her eyelids floating open and closed in lovelorn blinks. This man was something else.   
  
The song tied itself up, bringing to a close, and the drummer flung out a final break, crashing the cymbal that stirred to silence.   
  
Gabrielle clapped wildly, a wide grin on her face. A few other people clapped, a small number of women squealling and crying out.   
  
"I LOVE YOU JOCK!" came a wailing cry, that really didn't need to be shouted as there wasn't that much applause to carry one's voice over. Joxer rose his brows and smiled bashfully.   
  
"Wow, thanks. I love you too, thanks for coming tonight. Okay, um...I'd like to dedicate this song to a very sweet, special woman that I met just today," he scratched behind his ear and gave a goofy grin. He turned his voice to a perfect imitation of Christopher Reeves' Clark Kent, "Ya know I think she's kindaa swell!"   
  
Gabrielle giggled, feeling her heart warm triumphantly amongst the soft laughter that filled the room. Jock looked to the other musicians, muttering silently as his voice didn't reach the mic, his face moving expressively as they discussed things Gabrielle had no clue of. He turned back to the mic with risen brows and a pleased grin shaking his head.   
  
"Oh you're gonna love this one."   
  
His hands clutched the guitar, wringing a feirce cry from the helpless instrument. Again, an easy beat burst from the the drums, Joxer grinning into the light, his lips poised at the microphone.   
  
"Faaaaaaaaaaaace it!" Joxer howled with a thrust of the guitar, nodding at his bass player in the rhythm, the introduction reaching it's end, "You can't haaaaaaaaaave it, it's all about something you waaaaaaaant. Waaaaaaaaannnt it - you gotta waaaaaaaant it. The babe in my mind was there and gone! She gotta be youuuuuuu!" He hammered the guitar, a grinding chord of sheer ferocity rising from him, "She got-TA got-TA got-TA! She gotta be youuuuuuu!" Another hammer, his face twisting with the push of the song, "She GOT-TA Got-TA..." His lusty gaze returned, and Gabrielle could swear he was looking right at her. His voice lowered to a hungry spoken slur, "She got-ta be you... she got-ta be be be be!" The guitar heralded the beginning of the next verse, the tall leggy keboardist going for broke. "BAaaay-bay! You blow me away with your MIND, Looooovleaaaay! I'm always in love with your KIND! Somethin' bout a girl who knows how to make me HAPPY to be heeeeere. Somethin' bout a girl who makes me happy to be NEAR nEAR .... OHhhhh Faaaaaaace it!! You can't haaaaaave it.... it's all about something you waaaaaaant. Waaaant it. You gotta gotta gotta - she gotta gotta. She gotta be youuuu! She GOT-ta got-ta got-ta. She gotta be you! OUgh! ough oughhhhh!"   
  
He gnashed his teeth, the raging solo grabbing the lead break with a strength Gabrielle had never heard before. She felt her breath being taken, and with an odd leafy smell she barely noticed her friends returning.   
  
"Holy shit," came the husky voice of her best friend, "Who knew?!"   
  
"Told ya," Arran said, "He wails."   
  
"God yes," Gabrielle sighed.   
  
"He's allright..."   
  
The abrupt, cold voice shook Gabrielle from her trance, and she turned, seeing the large brown eyes of the critic. Callista smirked back at her, all in a bright red vinyl corset dress that barely covered her.   
  
"Does the city road works know you stole all their red plastic?" Arran asked her, his eyes glazed over, a similar colour to the dress. The woman didn't flinch, a cool smile on her features.   
  
"Watching the road to the end of your career, Arran?"   
  
Zena blinked groggily at the woman, a snarl on her face, "Why do you always sound like some bad soap opera villain when we see you? Always 'I'll get you, and your little dog too!'"   
  
Callista tilted her head, "Now now, we don't need to bring Gabrielle into this."   
  
Zena had hardly glared at the woman when her fist went flying, smacking into the pretty blonde's delicate jaw. The woman fell backwards, crashing into a couple of her shocked fans.   
  
"You better fuckin' watch it man!" one burly fish-net clad fellow shouted over the music, "You're fuckin' with the main act!"   
  
Zena leered a little, the arousal of attack glazing her eyes along with the weed and she shrugged a shoulder, taking a swig of her drink. "She should watch her mouth."   
  
Callista staggered to her feet, the man helping her up. She growled at him, yanking herself away. "Get your hand off my ass Theo - fuckin' pervert." She sighed, narrowing her eyes at Zena, "Oh... you're lucky. If I weren't up tonight I'd wipe the floor with you." She curled a lip and stalked off towards backstage, Zena smirking triumphantly. Gabrielle shook her head, wiping Arran's spilt whiskey from her skirt.   
  
"God dammit, Zena," she sighed, "Not only have I missed half the damned song but you gotta pick a fight with the main act in a room full of her groupies?! For what? A petty insult?!"   
  
Zena narrowed her eyes protectively, "No one calls you a dog in my presence!"   
  
"Anywhere else is okay," Arran said matter of factly, wiping up some of the whiskey with an errant cardboard coaster. He winced suddenly, his ear in a vice-like grip. He eyed Zena, her hand clamping tight onto his ear. "Okay! Fuck - let GO!"   
  
Gabrielle shook her head, turning to look back at the stage. The song was rocking - the BAND was rocking. The rough soulful surge seemed to reach the crowd, even the likes of Hot Spandex fans. Gabrielle smiled.   
  
"I am so gonna write a story about this."   
  
Zena looked at her from half-lidded eyes, wavering slightly, "Ye- What? You write like, historical stuff like..."   
  
"The women still wear chastity belts an' shit," slurred Arran.   
  
Zena shot a look to him, "You're not dissin' my friends story?"   
  
"No, no no," Arran shook his head, covering his ear, "Man - I love them."   
  
Gabrielle laughed through frowning eyes, "Ar - you've never read them before."   
  
"Yeah, but I love them. Really."   
  
She rolled her eyes, pulling out a twenty dollar note and shoving it into Arran's hand. "Go buy us another round you dork."   
  
Arran held up the note, taking a moment to focus on it and nodded. "Sure - you want beer? I'll get beer."   
  
"A daquiri!" she shouted, but waved him off with a sigh, "Fuck it."   
  
She turned her eyes back to the stage, Joxer rounding up the whirling tune that swept up the audience and brought screams from an increasing number girls. Gabrielle grinned, the stress from before melting away like an iceblock down a dancer's frock. As it ended with the crash of the drums, the entire room burst into applause. Gabrielle couldn't hold back. She threw a shrill whistle into the wave of wildly clapping hands and screams of oestrogen pumped women. She sank back down to her chair from the standing ovation, her eyes set on one person in that room, immovable, the brief impression of his soul from the day burnt into her consciousness.   
  
"Joxer," she said under her breath with a smile.   
  
There was a clunk as Arran plopped back down onto his stool, beverages being splashed. Gabrielle turned, frowning at him.   
  
"Ar - what did you get?"   
  
"Mimosa..." was all he muttered, pushing forward a class of orange drink. Gabrielle let out a soft whimper.   
  
"I asked for a daquiri!"   
  
"Is that whah this pink shit is?" he said, pushing forward another glass. She rolled her eyes, pulling her desired drink closer to her, watching Arran push a drink to Zena.   
  
"What did you get me?" the brunette asked.   
  
"Straight bourboun!" grinned Arran.   
  
Zena sniffed it, backing off with a wince, "Damn - don't know whether to drink it or clean my oven with it."   
  
"Drink it," he said, knocking back the mimosa, "Is good for you."   
  
Zena lifted it, met Arran's dead-pan gaze and stiffened her bottom lip. Arran fisted his hands, and began pounding the table.   
  
"Skoll! SKOLL!"   
  
"Shit!" Gabrielle hissed, jumping out of her stool, "You nearly doused me with my own fucking drink again!"   
  
Arran's face dropped to an even more serious gape, and he sighed, "Oh maaan, I'm really sorry."   
  
Zena cocked a nostril, "No you're not."   
  
Arran looked to her and cracked a wide grin, "You're right - I'm not!" An almost girlish chuckle fell from him as he clutched his perfectly taught abdomen, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it casually.   
  
"Bastard," Gabrielle sighed, wiping off the moderate amount of spilt daquiri. "You're paying for the next round."   
  
"No problem," Arran said around a cigarette wedged in between his lips, "Shit - Andrew's a really fine bass player. He knows how to hammer a fret with funk."   
  
Zena nodded, wincing around the downed bourboun, "You got that right," she croaked.   
  
Gabrielle eyed Zena, "You should take it easy, you've got championships in a couple of months."   
  
"Aaah," Zena waved a hand, "I can kick the ass o' half a' California State with my eyes shut!"   
  
Arran smirked, "I'd like to see that!"   
  
Gabrielle narrowed her eyes at him, "I wouldn't! She has to watch her health."   
  
"Gabrielle," Zena said, eying her friend carefully, "I'm a big girl! I can look after myself!"   
  
The blonde woman just sighed again, shaking her head and settling her view back onto the tall dark divo on stage, "Whatever. Just don't bitch to me when you lose your title."   
  
Joxer and the band had moved onto a slow song now, Joxer relaxing in the spotlight, his hands shifting deftly over the fret-board of the guitar, the voice of the instrument dancing through the sound system with a sheer daintiness. She wanted to close her eyes, but she never wanted to lose the sight of her talented new friend. She smiled, coaxing herself to close her eyes, and to just - listen. The drums were a rush of brush on skin, the keyboard a soft stringy synth sound just softly nudging the lead forward. The bass was the grounding, the stage that the lead skipped and danced upon. And the focus, the pure perfect centring of the living breathing unit of the band, the expression that those who didn't know the talk of music could understand - was his voice. A deep wavering timbre that flew so effortlessly on the note, not hanging or reaching, but floating, skipping, knowing it's place and hitting it precisely. Every note he sung stirred her heart to beating harder. She could feel her face all flushed.   
  
"Arran," Gabrielle muttered.   
  
"Hmm?"   
  
"Are you going to join this band?"   
  
A pause. "I think I might."   
  
"It'd be a good move," she said, "They're damned good."   
  
"So am I," Arran said nonchalantly.   
  
"I know," Gabrielle nodded, "That's why you should join."   
  
"Chicken and egg, chicken and egg," Zena slurred.   
  
Gabrielle frowned in confusion with a soft giggle, and turned back to the stage. Yes, they were damned good.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"First I slip off my old brown jacket, sliding to the floor... your eyes are set on mine and your hand is on the door..."   
  
Gabrielle listened to the song, her mind devouring each one that was played. She looked around her. It was about time for 'the Bards' to finish up, and the punk crowd was fast getting restless. She pursed her lips, trying to concentrate on the music through the crunch of beer cans and the chatter and swearing.   
  
"Where to after this?" Arran said.   
  
"Home," Zena said, "If I've anything to do with it. How about you Gab?"   
  
"I'll..." she smiled and blushed, fiddling with her purse, "I'll probably find out what Joxer is doing."   
  
Arran chewed on a beernut, his fingers resting in the bowl he'd commandeered from the bar, "Yeah? You want him so bad huh?"   
  
Gabrielle rolled her eyes, "Ar! I just - I find him a fascinating person!"   
  
"She wants him bad," Zena said, lifting a beer to her lips.   
  
She sighed, "Zena..."   
  
Zena blinked at her, mid-beernut-chew. "Gab - how many guys have you dated since Peter?"   
  
She opened her mouth, a flurry of confusion rising at the mention of the name. "Uhh... well there was-"   
  
"None," she said suddenly.   
  
"You -," she pursed her lips and pointed at Joxer, "You don't like this one..."   
  
"I dunno," Zena shrugged, "He's growing on me. Anyway, look, what the hell does it matter what I think? If he makes you happy and he seems relatively harmless, jump him. Don't wait for my approval I'm not your Goddam mother!"   
  
She sighed to herself, digging in her purse and dragging a spare coaster to her side. Arran propped his face onto his hand, watching her pull out a pen.   
  
"Are you gonna draw me again?" he asked, "I've got a good bone structure you know."   
  
"I know," smirked Gabrielle, "I'm going to draw Joxer if you must know."   
  
Arran shrugged, swigged his drink then leant towards Zena again, in his almost permanent leering position. And Zena's face danced into the smart-ass scowl she wore just as often.   
  
She let her pen dance over the absorbant cardboard, scratching and adding cross-hatches here and there. The lines began to form an image, and to anyone else it would have been a magical process. She knew what she was doing, and it was years of practice that gave her the gift of artistry and the ability to capture the moment on paper. She smiled at the image of Joxer, his neck craned back, guitar thrust up. She heard the breathing of her best friend over her shoulder, and the strong whiff of alcohol soon followed. Gabrielle held it up, showing Zena her effort. Zena cocked an eyebrow and shook her head.   
  
"You're amazing," she said, "You just - do stuff! You do stuff like that, I admire ya."   
  
"Ss pretty cool," agreed Arran.   
  
"I'm going to give it to him," she said. Zena smiled, patting her friend's shoulder roughly.   
  
"Thaz nice. I still have the first picture you ever drew of me."   
  
"I do too," nodded Arran, "I was too gorgeous to not draw."   
  
Gabrielle rolled her eyes, "You're so up your own ass, Arran."   
  
"I know," he said groggily, "It's a talent."   
  
She shook her head.   
  
"Okay," Joxer placed on the lusty look he'd worn before, fanning himself with his silk shirt under the light, wiping some sweat from his brow, "This is the last song. Thanks for sticking with us, and thanks to Hot Spandex for sticking with us too."   
  
Arran snorted.   
  
"Ew," Zena mumbled, "Careful, you nearly got slag in my drink."   
  
Gabrielle laughed with frowning brows, "You guys!"   
  
Arran gave her a level look. "Buuuuuuurp."   
  
Zena cocked a brow at Arran, giving him a look of incredible disgust. "Like I really needed to know what you had for breakfast."   
  
"I didn't have breah-fast. I had - a beer. That was breah-fast."   
  
Gabrielle shook her head, "How the hell do you keep your figure I'll never know...."   
  
"Constant work out," he said matter of factly.   
  
Zena smirked. "If he doesn't lift - he dies!"   
  
Gabrielle's attention was torn away by a sudden long note being sung, sweet harmonies in unison. Joxer turned his look from the bass player, back to the audience. Gabrielle didn't care if she looked stupid. She wanted to see him closer than a table near the back of the room. She got up slowly, moving towards him in a dream-like trance. Joxer sang to the room in general till he seemed to notice her weaving foward into his limited field of view.   
  
Arran frowned, "What's she doing?"   
  
Zena rolled the iceblocks around in her glass and shrugged, "Who knows."   
  
Gabrielle smiled, standing a couple of strides away from the stage, her eyes locked onto Joxer's. He smiled sweetly, working the guitar for every swooning note he could, his voice strong and passionate through the crash of the band that was beautiful like waves on a shore. The moment seemed almost dreamlike, her mind ignoring the rest of the room, the rest of the world. Joxer seemed as if he was at one with the music that flowed forth, his very essence being poured into the sound. She felt her hips swaying suddenly, a small grin taking her face. Her feet began to move, her legs fluid and shifting to the beat. Her shoulders soon slipped into rhythm. She knew she must have looked like a band slag. She really didn't care. The song demanded to be danced to. She was sure that with the little green tube dress she wore he could see right down her front. She smirked, turning and swaying her behind a little, the bewildered faces of the crowd greeting her. The women seemed to smirk and whisper between themselves. The men however watched her closely with hawk-like gazes, and she felt a sense of power that the hungry looks fed.   
  
"Feel no shame for what you are, feel no shame for what you are, feel no shame for what you aaare feel no shame for what you aaare, feel it as a waterfall, feel it as a waterfall - fall in liiiiiiiiiight, ooooooooh...."   
  
Suddenly she felt she was powering *him* somehow, his singing become more beautiful. If it was possible...   
  
"Feel no shame for what you are... as an arrow in your brow - fall in liiiight...."   
  
Kicks in the beat made her arms twist and thrust, as if something deeply tribal within her had come alive. She knew this... she knew something wild within her... he brought it out. A long grin was battling his way to his face, she knew he was trying to keep his lusty composure. It began a show, the more she danced, the longer he looked at her, the more in tune with the spirit of the song he became. She glanced back to Zena and Arran, who were both quietly shocked, Arran having a cigarette hanging from his bottom lip, Zena in mid-sip of her glass. She grinned, leaping back into the song. Her lips moved to the now familiar words.... feel no shame for what you are....   
  
"Fall in liiiiight... ooooooooh...."   
  
Andrew smiled and beat out the steady thrum of the deep bass note.   
  
"Stand absolved... behind your electric chair - dancing..."   
  
He looked at her as he said the word...   
  
"Stand absolved, behind your electric chair... daaa-aaa-aaaa-aaaancing..."   
  
Gabrielle threw her head back, her head swishing in a beautiful arc of strawberry blonde...   
  
"Don't be long.... beeeeeyond the staaaaaaaaaars - flow in light...."   
  
His voice curved, twittered and falled in an eastern roll, she marvelled at his control, her body revelled in the beautiful sound.   
  
"Ooooh fall in liiiiight...."   
  
Joxer twinged up the guitar to a sharp end. The whole room burst into applause, Joxer bowing with a short smile, leaning to the mic, "Thank you."   
  
He seemed to be shaking, his hands barely keeping still. As soon as he was free of his guitar which somehow found it's way into Andrew's hands, who already was wearing his bass guitar, he leapt down from the stage, his shirt fluttering open wide. Gabrielle smiled softly, her eyes roving over his form. He swallowed, looking around, running a hand through sweaty hair.   
  
"You danced for me..."   
  
Gabrielle shrugged, her eyes locked on his, her body moving forward, close to him. "I couldn't help it..." she said softly, her hands running over the tops of his arms.   
  
He smiled again, "You looked beautiful."   
  
She shook her head, "You sounded... I mean... I've never heard anything like that, uh. It was familiar but - beautiful. Nothing so beautiful..."   
  
He looked down, noticing her hands clutching onto his arms, and he felt delightfully warm inside. He looked to her, his soul celebrating her perfection. He looked behind him at the band, who gave him tired looks as they packed up their things. He swore, holding onto her arms at the elbow and squeezed them briefly.   
  
"I gotta - pack up," he said, "The guys will kill me if I don't..."   
  
"Well - what are you doing afterwards, I mean it's only 8:30 and-"   
  
Joxer sighed, looking to his feet, "I kinda - I got a prior engagement..."   
  
Gabrielle's smile faltered, and she looked to the stage, "With her?"   
  
Joxer's brow crinkled as confusion fluttered over him, "Huh? Oh - Meighan? Ha! No no no... She's - with Andy..."   
  
"Oh!" Gabrielle blushed, nodding away the embarrassment, "I - I assumed with the song about the girl... like her."   
  
"No," Joxer shook his head, "That was Andrew's song. He's totally ga-ga for Meg. Um - no I like blondes."   
  
Gabrielle glanced up, a blush rising in her cheeks. "You do?"   
  
"Yeah," he smiled bashfully, looking away and mumbling, "Strawberry blondes... with green eyes and cute freckles."   
  
She found herself giggling suddenly, falling into Joxer's arms. "So what are you doing tonight?"   
  
"It's my brother's birthday," he said, "Um - he has a club down the street that he runs and sings at."   
  
"Yeah?" Gabrielle's eyes lit up. "What club?"   
  
Joxer looked away, a blush tinging his cheeks, "Club Bailando."   
  
Gabrielle smiled, "Really? Club Bailando?"   
  
Joxer nodded, "Yeah - my brother's a total - fruitcake."   
  
"He's gay?"   
  
Joxer looked at her matter of factly and gave a snorting laugh, "Yeah that's no news I mean - look at the place. I don't mind that, he's just - crazy!"  
  
"He is?"   
  
"He thinks he's from Spain."   
  
Gabrielle cocked a brow, "Okaaaay."   
  
"He's allright - harmless enough. Anyway - me and my other brother are meeting at his club and stuff. The band will be there too..."   
  
"Okay," she said, basking in the warmth of her arms around his waist, however the hell they got there, "That's cool..."   
  
Joxer was silent suddenly, and he scratched behind his ear, "Would you - um - like to come along?"   
  
The writer smiled with relief, pulling him close and smiling, "I'm glad you asked! You would have had me stalking you otherwise!"   
  
"Well as long as you dance for me while you're at it, I don't mind," He grinned. He met her eyes again, a sudden understanding silence between them. He sighed, "I have to, the band - pack up."   
  
"Okay," she smiled, nodding.   
  
He sighed again, and pulling her in he planted a lasting kiss on her sweat-touched brow. She ran a hand over his cheek as he deposited the token of affection. He smiled bashfully, ducking off towards the stage.   
  
"You are *so* easy..."   
  
Gabrielle turned, her face crinkling to a frown, "I beg your pardon?"   
  
Callista stood there, hand propped on hip, her eyes watching the support group pack up their things.   
  
"All a guy has to do is sing like a depressed mental patient and you're already spreading your legs to him."   
  
Gabrielle blinked, her lip curled in disgust, "I haven't dated a man in two years, Callista."   
  
"Well *that* much is obvious," she smirked.   
  
Gabrielle looked to the stage, then back to Callista, "You hate him don't you?"   
  
"Hate?" Callista curled her lip, "Why bother? I don't care. People like Joxer's crappy band. It pulls in the additional crowds. Make the manager happy and I get more gigs."   
  
"You're a real musician, aren't you Callista?" smiled Gabrielle thinly.   
  
She tilted her head with a hanging smirk, "You can count on it." With that she weaved past Gabrielle, hopping up onto the stage and walking up behind Joxer. She slid her hand over the vinyl-clad bottom, Joxer leaping up like he'd been bitten. He nearly kicked over his guitar, spotting Callista and calming down only slightly, his movements somewhat stiff. She smirked with amusement, watching Joxer shrink back from the ballistic blonde's obviously fake advances. Joxer spared a glance to Gabrielle, and she smiled with triumph.   
  
"You gotta drool over the dude all night or are we gonna talk plans?"   
  
Gabrielle turned at the husky voice of her friend and smiled. "Joxer's going to Club Bailando tonight."   
  
"Gay huh?" Zena shook her head and clucked, "Them's the breaks."   
  
Gabrielle rolled her eyes, "His brother is actually, and he owns the club. Bit of a birthday thing going on - he invited me along. He might not mind you two coming..."   
  
Zena tilted up a brow and sighed, "Well... I've got nothing at home but a dopey golden labrador who'll just sleep on my feet anyway..."   
  
"And if I piss Zena off enough," chimed in Arran, "She might just hit me."   
  
Zena ignored him with great deliberation and twitched at Gabrielle, her irritation apparent. Gabrielle smiled, looking back to Joxer.   
  
"Fine... we're settled." She watched Joxer chatter and pack up, Callista slithering back off stage and over to her burly drummer. The blonde drummer of Joxer's band came back onto the stage, muttering something to the dark man before nodding. Joxer turned and jumped off the stage, grinning from ear to ear.   
  
"Hey," he smiled, "Ian let me off. The guys will meet us at the club."   
  
"Making special allowances huh?" smirked Zena warmly, and Joxer looked at her for a long moment, a slow smile creeping onto his face.   
  
"Yeah... say - I don't think we've been introduced properly."   
  
"No, we haven't," said Zena with tilted brow of amusement. "I'm Zena Wohlters, pleased to meet you..."   
  
"Joxer," Joxer smiled, "Joxer Callaghan."   
  
Gabrielle smiled at both of her friends, a calm pleased look on her features. Arran looked between then and sniffed indignantly.   
  
"So we gonna get pissed at the fag's joint?"   
  
Gabrielle glared at him, Joxer merely rubbing his brows patiently.   
  
"Sure - my brother will love you."   
  
Arran's eyes widened then narrowed, his stiff hands grabbing onto Zena. Zena slapped him off.   
  
"Get off me!"   
  
"Come on," Joxer said, his arm snaking around Gabrielle's. Gabrielle smiled, snuggling to him. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two Club Bailando   
  
  
  
The night was brisk, the night-club packed street filled with the sounds of merry making. Gabrielle clung to Joxer, who nestled inside a strangely fuzzy jacket that hung down to his mid thigh. His brown shirt was gone, replaced by a deep maroon one, unbuttoned quite a ways down, the soft smell of his soapy cologne filling Gabrielle's lungs. His arm was around her waist, hers also around his. It was strange that she held onto him so. Somehow every moment with him was an incredible relief. He was so warm, so firm and wonderful. She could feel the vibration of his voice as he spoke, his hand clutching the firm round of her hip. It wasn't a vulgar act of sexual gratification, rather a tender display of the rapture her company brought him.   
  
"How about that jerk in the front - he kept pitching beer cans at me till the bouncer kicked him out," Joxer said.   
  
"That's funny," Arran said from next to Zena, "Gabrielle had her panties all ready till she got psyched out by that dude."   
  
Joxer rolled his eyes at Arran and looked to Gabrielle, "Why is he only like this around females?"   
  
"No idea," Gabrielle smirked, pulling her jacket up around her. Joxer frowned.   
  
"You cold?"   
  
She smiled at him sweetly, "No, I'm perfect."   
  
Zena mimed sticking her fingers down her throat to Arran, who just smirked with glazed eyes. Much flashing of lights and bouncy music grew in the darkness and Joxer pointed ahead.   
  
"Here we are..."   
  
They wove their way in, the latin beat that streamed out filling their ears. Joxer leant to the doorman, whispering something in his ear. The doorman smiled, looked at Joxer's butt, now encased in black denim again, and nodded. Joxer blushed awkwardly, grabbing Gabrielle's hand and pulling her inside. She giggled, Arran ducking inside close behind Zena who he held onto by the waist. She narrowed her eyes at him, but didn't bat him off this time.   
  
In the walkway to the main dance and bar area, Joxer felt a hand tag his arm. He turned, a sulky figure smiling suddenly.   
  
"Hey bro..."   
  
Gabrielle double took, "Twins?! You didn't tell me you were twins!"   
  
"Woah - who's the blonde?"   
  
Joxer smiled at the identical man dressed in black leather, and looked down to Gabrielle tenderly.   
  
"Jett, this is Gabrielle. Gabrielle, this is Jett, my despicably bohemian brother."   
  
Jett nodded to the writer, "It's a blast meetin' ya. Ready to go into the lion pit?"   
  
Joxer narrowed his eyes, tilted his head a moment and nodded, "Mmm, yeah okay."   
  
"I'd watch out for him," Jett said, pointing to Arran cowering behind Zena, "Or is he with her?"   
  
"He's not with me," Zena said through tense lips, "But I'm lookin' out for him."   
  
"Whatever," shrugged Jett, striding forward.   
  
Joxer pushed open the doors to the club main, a flurry of glitter and light bombarding them.   
  
"EVERYONE!" shouted an all too familiar voice of the sound system, "Why don't you come, throw up your HANDS and FEEEEEEEEEL da RHYTHM!"   
  
Zena cocked a lip. "Another one?"   
  
Joxer nodded, "Yeah, it's my brother Jace."   
  
"Triplets!" Gabrielle gasped. Joxer shrugged.   
  
"Dad was better than he thought."   
  
On the stage the perfect duplicate of Joxer danced in tandem with a mass of scantily clad men who strutted and clapped to the beat. Jace did a pelvic thrust and pointed to the crowd.   
  
"We get it ooon mos' every night, an' whin daah moon geh's biig an braight iss supanaaaataraaal delight - everybaady wos daaaassin' in da mooonlaaaaaaght!"   
  
Gabrielle grinned at the show before them, her body coming to life again at the vibrant rhythm. The ringing thump of bongo drums filled the room, and Gabrielle grabbed Joxer's hand, who grinned with some embarrassment.   
  
"Come on!" she called, launching herself into the frenzy of dancers and patrons flailing themselves to the mercy of the dance.   
  
"Rrrrepeat after ME!" shouted Jace, "Olé Olé!"   
  
Gabrielle grinned, shouting out the words, wrapping her arms around Joxer's waist and kicking her legs from side to side, and glancing back she saw Zena smirking at Arran, the man chatting a little tensely to another musclebound fellow.   
  
"Joxer, this is amazing," she shouted over the din, "Is your family all musical like this?"   
  
"My father's a butcher," Joxer said, looking back to Gabrielle, "Jett was his apprentice. Fastest cleaver on the west coast. He quit to become by rhythm guitarist."   
  
Gabrielle smiled, "Wow."   
  
The conga line broke up, the writer and the singer collapsing at the table that Zena and Arran sat at. Gabrielle felt her blood rushing, exhiliration rising her brain to a giddy mess. She plomped onto the seat next to Zena, Joxer joining her.   
  
"Great place," Zena smiled.   
  
"Yeah, wild," Jett said from next to Arran, lighting up a cigarette.   
  
"JAAACKSER!"   
  
Joxer winced a little with a weathering smile, noticing Jace, adorned with glittery lei's, and pulled his brother into a tight hug. "Happy Birthday bro!"   
  
Gabrielle, blinked, a soft gasp leaving her, "Oh man! It's your birthday too! Oh Joxer!"   
  
Joxer blushed and waved a hand, "It's okay."   
  
Gabrielle pouted, crossing her arms, "I don't think it is."   
  
"Jacser," Jace pouted with a petit hand gesture, "Are you not going to innordoosse me to yor charrming company?"   
  
"Oh!" Joxer looked to the three friends, "This is Gabrielle... the broody one's Zena."   
  
Zena gave a lopsided smirk to Joxer and practically yanked a waiter over by his g-string, waving around a ten buck note.   
  
"Ann WHOO is de byoodiful man?" Jace extended a hand to Arran's taking his lightly in a feminine shake. Arran smiled graciously, edging towards Zena.   
  
"Arran," Joxer said, and added pointedly with a wicked gleam in his brown eyes, "He's with Zena."   
  
Zena glared at Joxer, a challenge there, "Oh... you're so going to get it."   
  
Arran merely closed his eyes, "Thank you, thank you."   
  
Joxer looked to Jace, who tilted his head with a twist of his lips, "Shame... ha' yo got any brothers?"   
  
"Plenty," Arran said, "I'll point 'em your way."   
  
Jace grinned and did a little clap, "Wonnerfooh! You muss all 'ave some drinks now I ssink yes! Padre!" He clapped sharply, a scantily clad lithe young man skitting over to Jace. Jace looked him up and down and smirked.   
  
"You go geh these byoodifooh peoples some drinks, hmm? Whadever dey wann - nnno cost! I muz go prepare for the next act!" He bowed to his brothers, and with a flourish of his purple feathered coat, he flounced off towards the elaborate stage. Padre looked Arran up and down a moment, cocking a carefully kept eyebrow.   
  
"Just get me a whiskey and take your eyes off my balls," grumbled Arran.   
  
The waiter wriggled his butt prissily, looking to the ceiling, "Really! Okay - a whiskey for tall dark and RUDE here! You madame?"   
  
"The same," smirked Zena.   
  
"My usual, Padre," Joxer smiled.   
  
"Strawberry daquiri!" Gabrielle said, raising her hand with a grin.   
  
"And a Bloody Mary for you Jett?"   
  
Jett glowered at Padre, a fractional nod coming from the man. Arran smirked.   
  
"I like you."   
  
Jett stared at Arran for a long moment, then went back to playing with the wild coloured coaster under his fingertips, "So this is the dude you're getting to replace me?"   
  
"Hope you don't mind," Joxer swallowed, "He has the same - er "   
  
"Black psychotic sense of no humour," muttered Zena.   
  
Arran took a long breath in, wrapping an arm around Zena's shoulders and pulling her in, planting a long kiss on the side of her head, "I love this woman!"   
  
Zena narrowed her eyes, "You love your balls don't you?"   
  
"Point taken," Arran said, withdrawing from the woman. Gabrielle smirked at Zena, who ran her fingers over where his lips had been.   
  
"I spoke to father," Jett said suddenly, "About me leaving for Britain - to tour with that band..."   
  
Joxer nodded, "Yeah - whaddeeh say?"   
  
Jett rolled his eyes, "Whaddaya think he said?"   
  
"Nothing of a positive nature, with a bit of degrading commentary thrown in?"   
  
Jett nodded with a slow wink, "Bingo."   
  
Gabrielle looked between the brothers, "Your father doesn't like music?"   
  
Jett cracked up into dark, sad laughter, picking up a coaster in lax fingers and beginning to tear at it. Joxer watched his brother for a moment, and with a sigh he looked to Gabrielle.   
  
"No, he doesn't."   
  
A soft frown settled on Gabrielle's features, "That's sad."   
  
"Them's the breaks," Jett shrugged.   
  
Gabrielle sighed, looking to the elaborately decorated ceiling, "I don't know what I'd do if my mother was against my writing. Dad just - he doesn't mind. Neither of them do, they just miss me. Don't like me staying away from home."   
  
"Where's home?"   
  
"South Bend..."   
  
"Notre Dame..." grunted Jett.   
  
"Yeah," she nodded, "That's right, Notre Dame - no more talk of them please I hate sports."   
  
"Farm girl," Jett nodded, "Cute."   
  
Gabrielle did her best not to clench her teeth, till a soft set of lips settled at her ear and whispered, "Does that mean I get to see you in a little blue checked petticoat and piggy tails?"   
  
She blushed at Joxer,"You'll get yours."   
  
Joxer grinned, "I hope so!"   
  
She nudged him sharply and he chuckled.   
  
Arran looked up at the waiter as his drink was brought up to him. He picked it up and sniffed it, "You didn't slag in it did you?"   
  
The waiter rolled his eyes, "Hardly! And I save the spiff for people I *like*!"   
  
As soon as the other drinks were down the man slinked about in a huff, diving back into the crush of glitter-spattered bodies and bright colourful feathers. Arran smirked and shook his head.   
  
"That is so gross," Gabrielle shuddered, "He didn't-"   
  
"He's kidding," Joxer said, pushing Gabrielle's drink towards her, "Don't you ever get drunk?"   
  
"I've only had one drink tonight. The other one was knocked over by the bull on heat over there."   
  
Arran dropped an icecube from his mouth back into the drink, an irritated frown on his face.   
  
Joxer blushed, "Oh... not that I want you drunk or... I just thought you maybe drunk a lot or - um -,"   
  
Gabrielle smiled, tilting her head onto his shoulder and touching the tip of his nose, "Don't worry about it."   
  
Joxer smiled awkwardly, a blush still in his cheeks.   
  
Arran sniffed stiffly, knocking back his whiskey and grabbing Zena's hand, "Let's dance."   
  
Zena yanked her hand back, "I don't dance!"   
  
"Yes you do," grinned Gabrielle. Zena glared at her with ice blue eyes, but the best friend only chuckled.   
  
Arran leant to her, "I promise I won't grope your ass..."   
  
Zena rolled her eyes and sighed, "Don't worry about it!"   
  
Sidling from her chair she pulled on Arran's collar, who smiled remarkably brightly for such a broody fellow.   
  
Jett looked at Joxer for a long moment, his face not moving. "You wanna go dance too huh?"   
  
Joxer looked like he needed to pee, "Please?!"   
  
"Go on," he waved a hand, "I have my bloody mary and dark scary brood to keep me safe."   
  
"Thanks!" Joxer grinned, pulling Gabrielle out from behind the table onto the dance floor.   
  
The bright thumping beat of disco pulsed through the speakers, Jace bursting onto the stage with a flurry of sequin clad dancers.   
  
"Whazz the sunse in sharring, this wahn and only lahfe, Ennin up, juss another los' and lonely wahfe. You coun' up the years, and they will be filled wi'h tears, Ough! Oh yeah! Love only breayss up, to stard over again. You'h ged the babies, but you won' have your man - why he is lovun' avareeh woman dat he caaan!! Oooh!"   
  
Gabrielle grinned, wiggling her bottom in the frenzied dance, the arousing firmness of Joxer's body behind her moving up and down to the energetic rhythm. Every now and again his hand skimmed her side, and she would let her hand skim his thigh, and as she turned, she let her hands dive inside his jacket mouthing the words with him with fervour.   
  
She glanced to Zena, who had a tired look on her face, but laughter in her eyes as she roly-polied her hands over one another, shifting from foot to foot in a little dance, Arran behind her, his hands resting on her hips. Gabrielle leant to Joxer.   
  
"You think Zena secretly likes Arran and doesn't wanna admit it?"   
  
Joxer shrugged, "I dunno. Um... " He took a long look and shrugged again with one shoulder, "I guess so. I'm not really looking at them..."   
  
Gabrielle rolled her eyes, leaning into his dancing embrace, "Gee... wonder why."   
  
Joxer wiggled his brows, burying his head onto the hollow of her neck.   
  
Jace twisted and boogied up on stage, "Young haaaartz, ruun freeee! Nahver be hung up, hung up lihe mah man and me oooh, mah man and me. Youn' heahrtz, to youh-self be true, Don' be no fool with, Whan loving is all, there iss...say that don't love you!" 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: The Two of Us (On Our Way Home)   
  
  
  
  
  
"And you boogied like a minx on crack!" Arran staggered a little, running into Zena who merely growled.   
  
"You were supposed to sober up so you can drive home!"   
  
"Aaah," Arran waved a hand, "I can walk home!"   
  
Gabrielle frowned with disbelief, "Arran! It's two miles down the highway!"   
  
  
  
"I be fine!" Arran shook himself, taking a deep breath in, "I can pull myself together."   
  
Joxer cocked a brow, "I sure hope so. Here's my car. Um," he turned to Gabrielle, jingling his keys nervously, "This has been the most - amazing night..."   
  
Gabrielle smiled, nodding, her heart tearing at having to be away from him, "I know - I don't want it to end."   
  
"Me neither..." he sighed.   
  
She looked around herself, a mischevious twinkle in her eyes. She pulled Joxer aside, a softness in her smile. "W- I know this is incredibly forward but-"   
  
"Yes," Joxer said huskily, lifting her chin up, "Whatever you're asking, yes."   
  
She laughed, her fingers wrapping around the hand at her face, "Joxer, you don't know what I'm asking - I could be dumping you for all you-"   
  
He cocked a brow, "You wanna dump me?"   
  
She giggled, "No, of course not."   
  
He nodded with a wise-ass smirk, "Then what is it?"   
  
She swore he was taking great delight in her nervousness, and she leant forward into his arms, fingering his collar ever so innocently, "I - I wanna come home with you."   
  
Joxer gulped, tilting his head, "Very do-able," he said, "Your car around here or..."   
  
"I'll drive it to your place?"   
  
Joxer nodded, "'Kay... you follow me, the address is... dammit," He pulled out a scrap of paper, "Here's my address and here," he turned it over, "Is my number."   
  
She took the dirty smudged paper, and ran her fingers over the numbers, "There's kisses there."   
  
"All for you," he smiled, winking, and he opened the door of his car, "See you soon, Gabrielle."   
  
She grinned, "Goodbye, Joxer."   
  
She stepped back, rejoining Zena and Arran, a delirious smile on her face. Zena rolled her eyes, shaking her head, "One day and you're in his bed."   
  
Gabrielle blushed, "No, it's not like that."   
  
"Oh?" Zena pursed her lips as they began to stroll again down the road, the cafe and club strip behind them, "Kinda looks like that to me..."   
  
Gabrielle sighed, "Zena - I - I can't explain it! There's something about him... I feel like I've known him all my life!"   
  
"Yeah, and you could totally trust him and that you can almost read his mind," she said with a rolling of her hand.   
  
Gabrielle frowned, "Zena, this *is* different. I wish you'd trust my judgement on this..."   
  
"I see my best friend totally cock-whipped," she said matter of factly, pulling a joint out of Arran's hand and stuffing it in her pocket. He frowned.  
  
"Hey!"   
  
"Arran," she growled.   
  
He sighed, looking to Gabrielle. "I'm not that gone."   
  
"Coulda fooled me," Gabrielle said as politely as she could, terribly failing. The comment washed over Arran, his face not twitching or moving at all.   
  
"What the hell am I going to do with you?" Zena sighed, "You're pissed beyond reproach."   
  
Arran raised a brow, "I'm perfectly fine, thank you!"   
  
"My car," Gabrielle said, reaching a small toyota, "Thanks for turning up tonight, Zena, I really appreciate it."   
  
Zena shrugged slightly, "Is okay - I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."   
  
Gabrielle looked to her feet, grinding the wet bitumen with her toe, "I um... I know you're not too fond of this whole Joxer thing..."   
  
"Just be careful," Zena said, putting a hand on her best friend's shoulder, "You never know."   
  
Gabrielle smiled, looking up to Zena, "I don't know why, but with Joxer, I do." She stepped forward, hugging Zena tightly, "I love you."   
  
"Love you too," smiled Zena, ruffling her friend's hair, "Look after yourself. Got a taser?"   
  
"In my purse," Gabrielle smirked, "Along with the condoms."   
  
"Good girl," grinned Zena. "I better get this idiot home."   
  
Gabrielle nodded, turning and pulling out her car keys. Unlocking the door to her car, she winked at her best friend, leaping into the front seat. The car was still for a moment, but the lights cracked the darkness, the car's engine whirring into life. The red automobile backed out, Zena and Arran stepping back as it angled out onto the road. With a quick honk of the horn, the car sped off down the road.   
  
"Juss you an me now," Arran said.   
  
Zena eyed him and sighed, "Yes, just you and me."   
  
They were silent for a moment, and she could feel the odd bump of Arran's muscled shoulder running into hers as he staggered. She sighed, trying to quash the worry she felt within her. Why was she worried about what this idiot did? HE was the one wasting his life on beer and women. Somehow, she felt herself softening inside, her hard-assed veneer always seemed to crumble around him. Maybe it was because he was so incredibly masculine, and therefore virtually impossible to look tough around. Something in him seemed to revel in her cold treatment of him, another part was like a young boy who yearned for love and attention.   
  
"Why d'you hate me?"   
  
Zena frowned at him, "Huh?"   
  
"You," he said, a funny pout on his face that made him look vulnerable, "You hate me."   
  
She scoffed, "Hate's a strong word. I - Um," she bit her lip, "I tolerate you."   
  
"You hate me," he said again, "I know I'm not very good... I'm bad..."   
  
"You're not bad," she said, wrapping her trenchcoat around her tighter, "You're just stupid." He went silent, his dark brown eyes fixed on the road ahead. She shrugged, "I had fun dancing with you - if that makes any difference."   
  
He gave her a long look, it seemed to say nothing about what he was feeling and it drove her crazy. "You're beautiful."   
  
Zena blushed, hiding her face behind her hand, "I know - just - watch where you're walking."   
  
"I waited years and years and years for you," he said, "Years and years and I never found you. Thought I never would."   
  
Zena frowned, cocking a lip in incomprehension, "What?"   
  
He shook his head, "Never min'."   
  
Zena shook her head. He was spouting stuff - stupid romantic crap probably. Then again something about the whole night creeped her out. It was too weird. She really did like the Joxer fella but - he creeped her out too. And not in the scary bad guy kinda way. In the blinding sense of deja vu way.   
  
"I drink 'cause I'm sad," Arran said, his eyes clearing for a moment, "And I'm sad, because I can never have you."   
  
Zena's brow twitched down, her mouth turning, "Says who?"   
  
He gave a sad smile, "You, beautiful princess."   
  
Zena shuddered, grabbing Arran's hand and yanking him onwards towards her car in the lot, "I'm getting you home and to bed so you can stop freaking me out!"   
  
She threw him into the back seat, and the guy was oddly silent. She expected him to make some wise crack about sadomasochism or something. He just lay there in the back seat, gazing quietly out the back window. She buckled herself in, starting up the engine. Glancing back, she pulled out a blanket and threw it over Arran.   
  
"Ar..."   
  
"Hmm?"   
  
"You okay man?"   
  
He turned his head, his large brown eyes meeting hers, and said nothing. She put her foot down on the pedal, backing the car out onto the highway, keeping an eye out for traffic. Her heart seemed to thump, that worry from before raging. She couldn't stand the man sometimes, yet... something in her was fiercely protective of him. She sighed, trying her best to remain rational. At the looming of the apartment building she knew he lived in, she slowed down, taking time to roll up the driveway.   
  
"Ar, we're here."   
  
Nothing.   
  
"Ar... Arran!"   
  
"Uuh - Huh?! Whah?"   
  
She sighed with relief, throwing off her seatbelt and tugging the car keys out and into her pocket, "We're here, Arran."   
  
He nodded, "'Kay. You fight the best."   
  
She nodded, "I know. Can you walk?"   
  
"Sure... one foot two foot - not hard."   
  
Zena slammed and locked the doors, checking the car before striding over to Arran and sliding under his arm, supporting him. He frowned.   
  
"What you doing?"   
  
"Helping you inside, you moron."   
  
"Oh..."   
  
She helped him inside, his heavy booted feet making long round steps, his hands dangling laxly at her shoulders.   
  
"You don't wear the sword anymore."   
  
Zena screwed up her face in disbelief, "What?"   
  
"I shouldn't say," he said, "I shouldn't mention it."   
  
"Mention what?!" she said, trying to hold back the reigning confusion. Upon reaching the elevator, she pushed him in.   
  
"Well," he shook his head, "No no... I won't."   
  
"Do," she shouted firmly, "Or DON'T! Just STOP screwing with my head!"   
  
"Sorry," he shook his head again, "Sorry sorry, I din' mean to."   
  
She pulled him out of the elevator, stomping down the corridor to the room on the end. She'd only been there once before. Arran had once offered to be her sparring partner, and it gave her a chance to kick his ass. After seeing the beautfully set out lair he called his apartment, she made a point to meet him at the rectreation centre rather than at his home. Even on his modest wages as a bartender and kung fu instructor, he managed to decorate the room in an alluring style, something about it as tempting as he was. She pushed open the door after managing to pry the keys from Arran's fumbling fingers. She smacked on the light, letting Arran walk slowly into the centre of the room. She watched him for a long moment. He seemed more depressed than pissed. She sighed.... what a Friday.   
  
"Well, are you going to be al-"   
  
Arran sighed and lay down on the couch. She rolled her eyes, closing the door behind her, slipping on the locks and striding over to him. She stood in front of him with a risen brow.   
  
"What are you doing?"   
  
"Sleeping," he said.   
  
"In all that leather?"   
  
He opened one eye a crack, and looked down, "Ow..."   
  
"Yeah ow," she said, pushing him up to his feet from behind, leading him into his bedroom. She kicked close the door, leading him to the bed. He flumped himself down again. She sighed. "UP!"   
  
Arran rolled over, looking at her with groggy eyes, "Huh?"   
  
"UP!"   
  
He frowned, doing as she said, standing in front of her, wavering a little. She yanked off his jacket with a mother's speed, trying not to eye the deliciously muscled body that was being uncovered underneath the layers of clothing. Under the black jacket was a tight black t-shirt that she helped him peel off, and pushing him onto the bed she yanked off his boots. He just lay back, his body stretched out, his eyes close, long lashes sitting against elegant cheekbones. She always marvelled at what petit hands and feet this guy had. She shrugged, pulling him up again.   
  
"You got undies on?"   
  
He frowned at her, "Yeah!"   
  
"Okay - I never know with you," she mumbled, undoing his belt and throwing it aside. "Take your pants off and get into bed."   
  
He nodded, pulling the leather togs off, his muscled form curving as he bent over to tug off the pants. She took her bottom lip between her teeth, blushing furiously. The man tumbled into bed, laying there in dark grey jocks. She clamped her eyes shut at the sight of his mostly naked body, and taking the edge of the blanket on his bed she pulled it up over him, tucking him in and pushing wisps of his fringe from his face.   
  
"There," she sighed, "All better."   
  
"Don't go..."   
  
She turned, her head, a frown on her face, "Ar - I gotta."   
  
"It's Friday," he said, "Where you gotta be tomorrow?"   
  
"Home, and - with Agnes..."   
  
Arran said nothin, just looked up at her from the bed. She sighed, shaking her head and sitting down on the edge of the bed.   
  
"What do you expect me to do?" she said, "Sit and watch you sleep?"   
  
"Talk to me," he said, "We never talk. We just grunt at each other."   
  
"You don't make a lot of room for intelligent conversation," she muttered.   
  
"I know," he nodded, "I'm always so bad at saying things I mean. It scares me."   
  
She frowned, "Scares you? Why?"   
  
"It's weak," he said, "Soft people need other people. Makes you vulnerable to adversaries."   
  
Zena climbed over him, settling on the other side of the bed, laying back and looking at the ceiling, "Arran, you don't have any adversaries."   
  
"Sure I do," he said, "I got - workmates, Jett, Callista... you sometimes."   
  
She turned her head and looked to him, battling the affection that swelled within her. "I'd never seriously hurt you, Ar. You know that."   
  
"I don't know anything anymore," Arran sighed, "I know what I knew, and now what there is. It doesn't seem to connect. This place - this city is all mixed up. I'm too used to things being simple."   
  
Zena frowned. She wasn't sure what he was talking about. "They are," she offered, "When you trust yourself - your friends. You have friends you know."   
  
He looked at her from the corner of his eyes and smirk, "Yeah, friends. I see you three days a week so you can kick my ass, and Gabrielle on the weekends when you both come in for your weekly piss-up."   
  
"Some people don't even have that," Zena said.   
  
"It wouldn't be so bad if you didn't act like you can't stand me."   
  
Zena felt the corner of her mouth lift, "It doesn't help that you behave like a pig. You drink yourself silly when you get the chance. Then there's the pot - you should definitely quit that."   
  
"You took some too..."   
  
She eyed him, "That's the first time I've smoked some in about a year and a half. I'm a professional kickboxer stupid. I got my health to maintain. Which brings me back to how amazing it is that you haven't got a pot belly and a shithouse memory by now."   
  
Arran shrugged, "Just lucky I guess."   
  
Zena pursed her lips and sighed, "Whatever."   
  
"You know...you almost sound like you care about me."   
  
She rolled onto her side, watching him gaze at the ceiling for a long moment. When he wasn't smirking like a self-assured buffoon, or gawking at some scantily clad woman at a bar... he had a definite artistic quality to his features. His lips, round and full, held a beautiful blush of purple to them, the goatee he kept accentuating the succulent flesh there perfectly. His nose turned up a little, and his eyes, large and soulful, sat under dark brooding brows that gave him a sulky quality that she hated to admit was endearing.   
  
"You're annoying," she said, "You're a pain in the ass, you're even stupid..."   
  
"I take back my last comment," he mumbled.   
  
"But... you're not a bad person," she said, "You just - you're a little self centred sometimes."   
  
"So are you," he said, "We're two of a kind."   
  
She frowned softly, "Perhaps." After taking in his gentle expression a moment longer, she sat up, looking away, her hair falling down off her bare shoulders exposed from her dark grey singlet top, folding her legs up against herself. She closed her eyes, the erupting flush of - affection perhaps, yes - flooding her mind, making her giddy. She heard the shifting of the sheets, and a warmth at her back. The soft wet touch of what she knew was his lips brushed her shoulder, a terrified shiver running through her.   
  
"Arran..."   
  
She could feel a hand on her back, another sliding around to her other arm, pulling her backwards into his arms. He turned her over, cradling her top half like a baby, running his fingers through her long jet black hair with careful deliberation. He seemed to savour the sensation of the silkly locks skimming over his fingers. He shifted, laying her down next to him, his every move thick with care and tenderness.   
  
"I've seen you go through women before," she huffed.   
  
"You're not other women," he said in a low growl, running the backs of his fingers over the plane of her cheek. She felt a shiver take her again, his hand slipping down over her breast, not kneading it or clutching it. His thumb brushed lightly over the hardened bump of nipple, his lips descending and pressing onto the pulse of her neck. She gasped softly, pulling him back, the hot spill of something on her face blurring her vision. Tears - why tears? He frowned, his brows tilted up, his hand cradling her face delicately. "Zena," he said, his voice husky and low, "Don't fear me."   
  
"I don't!" she said, "I don- oh..."   
  
He closed the distance between them, his silky lips pressing down over hers with such delicious suction, the skilled caresses easing her own open with a slow langourous pumping. A soft moan grew within her, tears spilling again. Arran broke away, running his lips over her cheek, ear. He took a long breath in, luxuriating in the musky perfume she wore. He ran his tongue over her skin, licking away the tears, and she felt his breath brush her ear...   
  
"I love you, Zena..."   
  
She groaned, arching her body up, her arm clutching onto his shoulder and pulling him down. Something in her broke as the words were muttered, so beautifully with such sincerity. Maybe *she* was the cock-whipped one. At that moment, she didn't care. The both of them had shared something that night, something she'd never spared him before. A little understanding perhaps, maybe patience. Had she known he'd reward her with a little spark of humanity she would have changed her tack long ago. Maybe... oh God...   
  
She idly wondered about the tears that had fallen, why she felt so - full - of something when he'd finally pressed his lips onto her skin. Had she been waiting for that? He'd made passes at her before, but there was something about him tonight... something so fragile. A bizarre sense of relief barraged her soul when she gave in to him, and damn her if she knew why, but it felt so right. She bucked, trying to wriggle out of her clothes, her lips roving over Arran's shoulders. She grunted, mumbled, gasped as Arran slid his hand up underneath her singlet. He sat her up, and sliding his hands up, under her arms and up them, he bundled the thin singlet top and pulled it from her body. She brought her arms down, behind her, flicking undone the clasp of her bra and letting the collection of black lace fall in her lap. Arran pulled her up, burying his face to her chest, pressing soft tender caresses over her satin skin. He lay her down, now yanking her shoes off, easing the denim pants from her luscious curves. As she kicked the pants off her legs, her thighs shuddered, and Arran ran his hand up the soft plane of her inner thigh. He met her frantic gaze, deep brown eyes alive with mischief. He settled between her legs, nudging at the damp mound shrouded in tight-fitting black satin.   
  
"Hauuuuh..." Zena moaned, bucking her hips, "Arran you damn tease!"   
  
She heard a muffled snigger, though it suddenly went quiet as something latched onto the crotch of her panties. With a tug Arran pulled them down with his teeth, Zena tilting her hips up to help him along.   
  
"That's it," she panted, "That's it - oh God..."   
  
Arran let out an impatient puff, grabbing the knickers and ripping them off.   
  
"ARR!" she gasped, "Those panties cost me fifty dollars!"   
  
"Oh... whoops... Um..." He looked up at her apologeticly, "I'll buy you more. Lots more."   
  
Zena tilted up a brow in bewilderment, but before she could vocalize any thought she had Arran had swooped in, bringing a guttural squeak from her throat.   
  
"Unh, oh God... uhn... Ar- ArraN!"   
  
She heard his contented little grunts, his hands running up her sides with gentle caresses. She tilted her hips, pushing them forward, running her fingers through Arran's dark peppered hair. The rising well of passion within her was mindblowing. She'd pushed him back for months and now... oh God... now he was here and damn it all it was wonderful. He moaned as he took a hold of her centre, laving it with a concentrated fervour. Zena tilted her head back, her jaw falling open, gripping the sheet underneath her with sweet delirium.   
  
"Ahh! AHH!! Oh God... oh Arran..." She panted, running a hand through her mussed locks, "Huhhh... Arran..."   
  
He crawled up between her legs, poising himself over her, his lips dipping down and caressing hers. Zena ran her hands up the sides of his face, jutting her leg up and rolling him over roughly. She plunged into his mouth, thrusting her moist groin against his lightly haired stomach. He let out a soft squeak, a deep chuckle following it.   
  
"Your turn huh? Oh... woah..."   
  
She moaned with a predatory glint in her eyes, spreading herself out over him, languorously exploring each inch of his flesh over his ample pectorals. Any reservations she had about shamelessly giving herself to this seemingly complicated man were ripped away with her fifty dollar underpants, and she was glad, very very very glad. She smiled as she laved one of his nipples, idly wondering what her best friend was up to at that moment. Not that she had to guess. But she couldn't talk, not anymore. She was here fucking the biggest jerk they'd both ever met. Damn he was hot.   
  
  
  
Car engine off. Open door. Get out of car. Sit down and relax for five minutes and hope the bruising from the seatbelt will not show for at least another 10 hours. UNDO seatbelt. Get out of car.   
  
Simple commands that were a total shambles in the young writer's brain as she fumbled with her keys, locking up her car and eying the strange apartment building. She clutched the scribbled on paper in her hands, crossing the residental road with a clatter of her heels on bitumen. Her heart was pounding madly, her skin tingling and aching for the man she knew was waiting for her inside. She got to the small alcove in front of the doorway to the building, and pressed the button. She knew this was crazy. Very very crazy. She was a wait three or four dates before heavy-petting kinda gal, not a 'take me now you luscious hunk of musician man you' kinda gal. Though the latter had too much appeal for her to give up on now.   
  
"Hello?" came the tinny voice, tenderness in it's tone.   
  
"Hey... Joxer?"   
  
There was a silence, then an amused, "Yeaaah..." She placed a sudden huskiness to her voice, "What underwear have you got on?"   
  
A cackle came through the intercom, "Black and frilly," he said in a camp tone.   
  
Gabrielle grinned and said sing-song, "I'm coming uuuuup..."   
  
"I'll be waiting," he said with the comical deep husky voice directed back at her.   
  
Gabrielle giggled, running inside and to the elevator. She'd not felt so excited in years. Not since she hid behind the garden shed with Peter when she was twelve and kissed him for hours and hours. Though the redness of their lips caused some concern to her parents, namely the possibility of a very severe strain of some sort of cold sore breaking out in the two children. She stepped out of the elevator finally, counting down the doors. Up ahead was the number, and looking at her piece of paper, his scribbles on it, she fingered the grubby torn edges. Taking a long breath in, her mind awash with unplayed fantasies, she knocked on the door. There was a bumping, and the door opened with a small 'skree'.   
  
"Hey!" Gabrielle felt a grin splash on her face, "Hey!"   
  
Joxer posed in the doorway, flicking a dangling lock of dark hair out of his face and consequently knocking his head on the frame, "Ow!"   
  
"Oh!" she laughed, "You okay?"   
  
"Um," he rubbed his head, "Yeah... let me try that again..." He posed again, a farcical lust on his features, "Welcome to my..." He did a silent snarling gesture with his teeth, "Humble.. abooode..."   
  
Gabrielle fell into giggles, "You're nuts."   
  
"I am," he nodded, opening the door for her, "Totally insane - you sure you wanna come in?"   
  
She looked to him, a seriousness in her green eyes, "Yes, I am."   
  
He met the gaze, almost looking humbled for a moment, "Great...um... come in..." He ducked inside, Gabrielle traipsing in behind him, fiddling with the paper still in her hands. Joxer reappeared from the kitchen, closing his apartment door behind her.   
  
"Um... this is the living-room..."   
  
"You live here alone?" Gabrielle asked.   
  
"Yeah," he nodded, "As you can see it's um - small."   
  
Gabrielle shrugged, "I don't know - it's nice."   
  
Joxer smiled, "It's something. Uhh... " He held up a bottle, "I don't have alcohol... I just drink coke most of the time..."   
  
How cute, she thought, "That'll do fine."   
  
Gabrielle sank down onto a nearby bean-bag, wrapping her arms around her knees. She kicked off her pumps, letting her feet snuggle onto the shaggy rug. The room was small, the walls a warm creamy white. There was a single framed poster of Jimi Hendrix hanging on the wall and a carved sculpture of a horse in mid-buck on top of a reasonably old stereo. The TV set was off, and under it was a neatly stacked pile of videos next to the vcr. Next to the couch in a stand was the guitar that the talented man had played on earlier. The white painterly words 'Fender' splashed along the top bit she didn't know the name of. She wasn't a musician, so guitar terminology was a bit of a mystery to her. Upon seeing the incredibly spartan set up of the room, she suspected something very strongly. This man was tidy. Very tidy. She turned to see what the kitchen was like around the corner. From what she could see... spotless. She frowned - this was a young bachelor's pad... what anomalie was this man?   
  
"Here..."   
  
She looked up, recieving the coke from Joxer in a tall frosted glass, "This is probably a good idea - I've had far too much to drink tonight..."   
  
"Me too," Joxer smiled, plopping down onto the floor next to her. Gabrielle smiled a little nervously.   
  
"I - I can't tell you how much I enjoyed myself tonight. Hell I'm HERE, in your apartment, I ..."   
  
Joxer smiled, "You know um, Gabrielle. It was amazing when you danced. I can't tell you enough! It was the first time I felt like anyone really understood what I was doing up there. I mean - dancing in front of all those people..."   
  
"You were giving of yourself," she said, a soft seriousness returning to her, "Creating something from what you feel. I wanted to give you something back."   
  
Joxer nodded, a thoughtful look on his face, "I think I want to kiss you now."   
  
Gabrielle sighed hotly, "I thought you'd never ask!"   
  
Without much further ado she launched herself onto him, Joxer slipping his arms around her with ease, claiming her lips in a long supple kiss, his hands running magic with loving strokes of her skin. She sighed contentedly, every inch of her alive with a sense of celebration. His hands ran up under her skirt, then roaming over the lovely ripples of the muscles in her back. She gave a vocal sigh, pushing Joxer's jacket off him, his shirt fast being unbuttoned. Joxer laid her down on the bean bag, settling next to her and leaning on his arm, gazing at her.   
  
"You're amazing," he sighed, taking up her hand and planting feather-light kisses on her knuckles. Gabrielle blushed, running her other finger's through Joxer's tousled locks.   
  
"You know what?" she smiled. Joxer shook his head, the kisses on her fingers travelling up her arm. "When I first saw you, I wanted to jump on you right there and make mad crazy love to you."   
  
Joxer gave a long happy moan, "Crazy love... that's the best kind."   
  
Gabrielle chuckled, tilting her head, "You're so much fun."   
  
Joxer grinned, "I know."   
  
"And modest too!" she grinned, pulling him down into a passionate kiss.   
  
She felt her whole body relax, her heart fluttering beautifully at the sensation of the wet silky lips exploring and caressing her own. God, she loved him... She loved him?!   
  
Something inside her - broke. All her thoughts came to a screeching halt in one dawing moment, as if every moment she'd lived she'd been dreaming, and all of a sudden she was awake. She broke away from the kiss, panting, glaring - something ripped through her...   
  
"Uaaagh!"   
  
Gabrielle flung her head back, her eyes snapping open. She blinked, glancing around her.   
  
"Gabrielle - you okay?"   
  
She turned her head, running her hands over her hair, feeling a strange sense of shock to find it flowing past her shoulders. She took a long breath in, trying to collect wildly jarring thoughts. She gazed at him, the recognition spilling through her, shocking her soul.   
  
"J-Joxer?"   
  
Joxer's eyes were wide with concern, his arms still around her. He brushed a lock of hair from her face, his hand cradling her jaw. She narrowed her eyes again, swallowing, her soul falling through a jumble of images and faces. Why was she expecting her hair to be short - where the hell was she? Her mind fell into memories, places she had been, people she'd known... but they were all wrong, all old, different limitations, different freedoms.   
  
"Wh - I'm... I'm sure I've known you before..."   
  
Joxer tilted his head, a nervous laugh coming from him, "Maybe I dunno - I've played a lot of gigs around town..."   
  
"No," she shook her head, her voice sounding woosy, "Not here, not now - another time. Another... damn it - whuh - oh God..." She bent over, cradling her head, tears falling down her face, "Pain!"   
  
Joxer sputtered, "Uh - damn - you want an aspirin?"   
  
She glared up at him, "What? No! Not that kind of pain! Emotional pain!"   
  
The man pouted, his top lip jutting out ridiculously as he frowned at her tone. Gabrielle blinked at him, a sudden laugh taking her.   
  
"You would always do that!" she said, cradling his face, "That stupid pout! And those rubbery lips!" She pressed his lips between her fingers affectionately, "And I loved you..." She paused, swallowing back tears, her words paced and tender, "I was in love with you... And I never told you till it was far too late."   
  
Joxer had gone silent, his eyes searching her, the whole thing seeming to deeply disturb him. He looked around himself for a moment, then held her shoulders carefully a unsettled look in his eyes.   
  
Gabrielle's eyes searched the room, her mind rushing, finally making sense of it all, finally understanding who she was - who she used to be. As she closed her eyes she could see him, his face wrinkled, the life that was there slowly seeping away, and her heart becoming cold. So very cold. Opening them again the beautiful vision of that same man, young and vibrant, bombarded her senses. She could feel him, smell him, HEAR him... and it *was* him! Despite the fact he couldn't remember, it WAS Joxer!   
  
"Joxer..," she sighed, cradling his face tenderly, "I don't know why or how this has happened - I know you probably think I'm insane but please..." She winced, a fresh spring of tears spilling down her face, "Please remember me... please!"   
  
He frowned, "I... I don't know."   
  
"No," she shook her head, desperation gripping her, "Think! In the alley back in Greece! With the crossbow and the staff! I had the staff, I knocked you out! Remember?!"   
  
The musician frowned, opening his mouth to speak but saying nothing. God dammit all!   
  
"Oh God," she sighed, pulling herself up, pacing around the room, "We - Oh YOU! YOU SANG! Joxer the Mighty! He's really tidy!" She began swaggering around pretending to tip a hat. The young man seemed to become very still.   
  
"How - how did you know about my song?"   
  
She turned, scratching her head groggily, "What?"   
  
"I wrote that song - when I was a kid... about a hero I used to pretend to be... I sang it to myself when I was scared."   
  
"Yes!" she strode back to him, pulling him into her arms, "You, and me! We were heroes! We'd have adventures together! And you died for me... and I never - I never felt happy again."   
  
He saw the sadness in her eyes... no it was worse than sadness. The soul was broken with grief and he - somehow fixed that. The unfamiliarity in his eyes killed her, her heart breaking as she feared losing him all over again. As if giving him the kiss of life, she pressed her lips down onto his again.   
  
"Mmph," he pulled his head away, "Gabrielle - come on, I think you should maybe sit do-Hmmph mmmppH!" He moaned, Gabrielle pushing him down, her hands roaming under his maroon shirt. He felt his eyes loll back, "Oh Gods... oh God... Oh - come on - Gabrielle now - " He pulled her off.   
  
"Dammit," she whimpered, wiping back tears, "I love you! After all that damned time I LOVE you!" She fell forward, taking his lips in hers, nudging at him with tender moans, "I love you..."   
  
"Gabrielle now - mmph," he pulled his head away, "Mmph, Gab-"   
  
She wasn't sure what came over her. His resistance to her broke any self control she had, and her hand went flying as she slapped him sharply.   
  
Joxer's face snapped to a side, and he cradled his face with a wounded look in his large brown eyes. Confusion broiled in them, a terrifyingly familiar confusion that she began to feel guilty for. The guilt soon died away as her heart snapped in her chest in peices at the pain she'd brought the perfect young man. She watched his eyes scanning the front of her green dress for answers, and as his dark brows dipped down to his doe-like heavy-lidded eyes, something in him shifted. He glared at her, his brow tilting up, "Ga- Gabby?"   
  
She swallowed, fear taking her, barely able to whisper, "Joxer..."   
  
Joxer put his hands to his temples, his jaw hanging as if he were in pain.   
  
"GODS," He clamped his eyes shut, "Damn, AAH!"   
  
"Joxer..."   
  
He looked up, his hands still cradling his head, his eyes meeting hers. He stilled.   
  
"I love you," she said.   
  
"W-wuh," he glanced around him, then looked back to hers, his brown eyes ringing with recognition, "Yeh - Gabby..."   
  
She grinned, tears spilling down her face, "Hey dopey!"   
  
He let out a strangled gasp, pulling her into a tight embrace, burying his face into her long silky gold locks, saying nothing, just breathing, holding her, savouring her.   
  
She returned the hug with all she had, pulling him over onto the beanbag, soft sobs falling from her, "I missed you!"   
  
"I missed you Gabby," he sighed, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I - I am SO sorry..."   
  
She felt a smile lift her lips, "Don't be sorry," she brushed Joxer's shaggy bangs from his forehead, planting fevered kisses on his face, "Mmm, mm oh Gods..."   
  
A renewed energy seemed to fill the young man, his hands travelling over her body, as if to make sure she was real, "Oh man... oh you danced for me..."   
  
She tilted her head, cradling his face tenderly, "Yeah... no rain but nearly there, huh?" She tugged at the maroon shirt, slipping it down over his shoulders, kisses following where her hands went, her breath skimming over his skin. She let her hands work at his belt, her mouth travelling back up to Joxer's where it settled, exploring his wet depths with a grinding of her hips. "I'm going to have your babies," she mumbled possessively, sighing as he laved her neck, "My Joxer now."   
  
Joxer chuckled, lifting his lips from her neck and sinking them into hers, "Yeah," he said around her caresses, "I'm all -mmph- yours, no one else this -hmmm- time."   
  
She moaned, "God, I love you..."   
  
"I know," he nodded, sliding her dress up, his breaths feeling suddenly thick. She shuddered at the warm tingling of his hands running up her body, the palms pressing against the swells of her breast a sweet moment before slipping the green dress up over her head. She watched it get thrown aside. Joxer gasped softly. "Oh.... man... you were dancing without a br- I mean..."   
  
Gabrielle grinned, taking his hands and running them up her body again, settling the palms at her nipples. She yanked away his belt, and with a frantic moan she tugged at the pants. "Pants off, pants off!"   
  
"Pants off," Joxer nodded, wriggling out of them as if they were filled with bugs, "Gabby on..."   
  
"Gabby on," she nodded, "Definitely me on..."   
  
With a triumphant roar Gabrielle managed to rip the pants from his legs, throwing them over her shoulder. She pulled off the boxers he wore with as much vigour as she stepped out of her panties, kicking them away. She glanced to the couch next to them, spotting the blanket, and she flapped it open, covering their legs.   
  
"Cold," she muttered before falling into Joxer's arms again, the delightful warmth of his body free of clothing against hers a heaven sent sensation. She kissed him hungrily, cradling his face, nudging her hips against him. She panted impatiently, too much skin to caress in too short a time - she wanted him all at once. She felt the hardness that bumped her groin, a low growl developing in her throat. She angled herself down, meeting Joxer's anxious gaze as she met the tip of his member with her waiting entrance. Taking her bottom lip in her teeth she brought her weight down on it, the long mass sinking into her. She dropped her head back, a gasp leaving her. "God-damn," she sighed, "Oh finally!" She assumed Joxer shared the sentiment, a grateful look plastered on his features. Gabrielle let out a strangled moan of delight as he thrust into her, the unusual invasion pushing impossibly beautiful feelings to the pores of her skin. His lips sought out hers, his arms cradling her so tenderly. How she had longed for this all those nights! How beautiful it was, far far superior to any dream tryst she could have imagined. And how perfect it was, knowing his joy, his total joy in recieving her finally after all this time. The hot tingling friction grew inside her, and the frantic grinding of her centre on his pubis was pushing her far past the point of no return. "Joxer!"   
  
"Mmm?"   
  
"I'm nearly there," she breathed, laying her head on his chest, watching her hands fondle his pectoral, "Oh Gods... so close..."   
  
His fingers dove into her long silky tresses, cradling her head as he rolled her over carefully, lunging into her with abandon. He propped himself on one arm, letting the other hand slide down, seeking out the slick little bud under her venus mons, pulling back the flesh so he pressed and rubbed against it fully. Gabrielle let out a heady cry of ecstacy, clasping Joxer to her between her legs, pushing him into her with crossed ankles on his creamy round buttocks.   
  
"Jah," she moaned, "Oh Joxer... damn!! I missed you, I did I... Ohhh OHhh!! GODS!! MMMPH!" She pulled him in, kissing him fiercely, "MMMPHH!! OOOAAh!!!"   
  
Joxer panted, a hot groan leaving him as he gave long, laboured lurches, "Gaah! Gaabbeeeh!"   
  
"Joxer," she whispered, pulling him to her in a tight embrace as he slowed this pumps into her. He gave a last thrust, his member finished the last of its release, and he caressed her leg tenderly, planting a kiss on her knee as he got up to stand. She let out a short giggle as Joxer stood, his legs a little shaky, taking her hands and pulling her up with him. She grabbed onto him as she stumbled, his hands grasping at her.   
  
"Whoops," he breathed, "Steady..."   
  
She grinned, "You took a lot out of me..."   
  
"You too," he smiled, kissing her before moving behind her.   
  
He manouvred behind her, leading her by the shoulders past the kitchen into a short hallway.   
  
"Where are you taking me?" she smiled.   
  
"To the bedroom," he said, his lips against her ear, "A wonderful little 21st century concept."   
  
She flicked back a hand, smacking him in the face with a wry grin, "Smart ass!"   
  
Joxer chuckled, pulling her up over his shoulder. He staggered into his bedroom, dropping her on the bed, a naughty grin taking his face. With a growl he launched himself onto the bed, pulling her into his arms and planting lusty kisses on her chest. She moaned softly, wriggling under the sheets. She pulled Joxer to her, the exertion of the move obviously in her half-lidded eyes.   
  
A tender smile touched her features, "Now I know... I know why I was so happy when I found you again..."   
  
Joxer sighed, burying his face into the nape of her neck, "I do - I remember now... I can't believe I ever forgot."   
  
"It's okay," She let her fingers dive into his hair, her lips settled against his forehead, "You were right though, when you were saying goodbye in my dream... they gave us another life... for us."   
  
Joxer glanced up to her, "I - I don't think it was a dream, I mean..."   
  
"You remember that?"   
  
He nodded, "I didn't want to leave you. I waited for you for all that time. I didn't want to lose you again."   
  
Gabrielle felt a worry rise within her, "This isn't supposed to happen is it? I mean, us remembering."   
  
Joxer shrugged, "I don't know... maybe it is."   
  
She looked down at him nestled at her chest, "Joxer..."   
  
He looked up, "Yeah?"   
  
"Everyone's here... Xena, Callisto, my sister. Your brothers... even Ares is here..."   
  
Joxer swallowed, "Xena is with Ares right now isn't she?"   
  
"Yeah but - he's human, he's harmless," she said.   
  
"You sure?"   
  
Gabrielle smirked, "I've watched him get smashed week after week - I know! He's been bruised before from Xena's sparring with him, he's bled from glass cuts... he's mortal all right. Or fallible at least."   
  
The words didn't seem to affect Joxer. His eyes were focused on the skin he rested his cheek on, his fingers running up and down the curve of her breast,"I'll squish you here... half on top of you like this."   
  
"I like Joxer squishes," the bard smiled, "I love them. That time I lived without you I yearned for them so don't you hold out on me."   
  
"Plenty coming your way," he said with a soft grin, dropping a feather kiss on her shoulder blade. 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four Honey, is that You?   
  
  
  
She took a long breath in, rolling over and running her hand over the sheets. She expected the empty softness of her double bed, but instead got ripples of muscle. Running her hand up and down again, part of the ripple seemed to rise. She blushed through the confusion, one eye cracking open.   
  
The burly fellow in the bed next to her looked down to his crotch with interest, in particular the hand that seemed to be frozen there. He looked over to her, rubbing an eye.   
  
"Morning," he said.   
  
She frowned, sitting up and shifting herself, covering her nakedity with the silky sheet on the bed.   
  
"Modesty," he cocked a brow, "Cute. And I must say this is the nicest surprise I've ever had."   
  
"Euuh," she blustered out a whimper, "What the hell ... God... what was I thinking?"   
  
Arran looked back down to his crotch and tilted his head, "Hmm, I wonder..."   
  
"Shut up!" she hissed, "Just -"   
  
She eyed the tent of fabric and blushed furiously. She gulped, her cheeks burning, her mouth feeling incredibly hot. She shifted her hand that laid by her side, tugging back on the sheet with her fingers, a determinate look on her features. Arran merely watched her hand, leaning back on propped elbows. The fabric slipped off his chest, and she clamped her eyes shut, her heart thumping in great jolts of energy. Gripping the sheet, she opened them, turning to meet Arran's self-satisfied leer. And for a moment, the smugness dropped from the features, as if the look was tamed by her calling gaze.   
  
He didn't even wait for her next move. Sliding his arm around her shoulders, he kissed her roughly, stroking her tangled hair from her face, running his fingertips down her arms, weaving his fingers in hers. He ran his lips over her cheek, nuzzling her possessively. Zena responded in kind, rolling over and slipping her leg around one of his.   
  
She met his torrid gaze, "You think you can just... ohh... fuck me and assume I'm open for business twentyfour-seven?!"   
  
Arran smiled at her, a surprisingly tender gesture, kissing the round of her shoulder. "You started it this time."   
  
She frowned, swallowing back gasps as he licked at her neck, "Did you mean it?"   
  
Arran lifted his head, meeting her worried glare. "Mean what?"   
  
"You said you loved me. Last night. Did you mean it?"   
  
The brown eyes softened, vulnerability splashing on his face again, "I did. I meant it."   
  
He nearly flinched as her hand moved to his face, her fingers tracing the elegant bones of his jaw, cheek, brow. Her eyes were the the kindest he'd ever seen them, a deep blueness that gleamed in the golden morning light.   
  
"Say it," she whispered, her brows tilting up.   
  
"I love you," he said, "I always have."   
  
She sighed, letting a whispered, "I love you," fall out as her lips closed over his, a moan soon following it.   
  
"We're going to have sex again aren't we," mumbled Arran around Zena's prying lips.   
  
"Yes we are," she said, "So shut up."   
  
A sudden digital chirruping disturbed the lusty pants and moans, and Zena narrowed her eyes.   
  
"Ignore it."   
  
Arran ran his lips over her chin, "Mmm - can't..."   
  
"Why not?"   
  
"Might be work," he replied. He reached out, his lips still roving over her face, his hand grabbing the telephone, "Hello?"   
  
"Hey! Is Zena there? It's Gabrielle."   
  
"I know it's ... Gabrie- Gabrielle..." Arran struggled to speak, Zena's tongue running circles over one of his nipples, "What you doing calling so early?"   
  
"Oh God - did I get you at a bad time?"   
  
Arran clenched his teeth, "No..."   
  
Zena frowned around the mouthful of chest, "That's Gabrielle? My Gabrielle? Give it to me!" Her hand shot out for the phone, which Arran pulled away, a cheeky grin on his face.   
  
"Is that Zena?!" called Gabrielle over the phone.   
  
Arran tried to wipe a smirk off his face, miserably failing, "Why yes yes it is..."   
  
Zena hissed, "You bastard I'm gonna - GIMME!"   
  
Gabrielle paused awkwardly, "Um... can I speak to her?"   
  
"Gimme that you son of bitch!" Zena growled, crawling over Arran and slipping, landing square on top of him. Arran sniggered, pulling the phone away.   
  
"Oooh, why should I? Hmm?"   
  
"Cause if you don't I'll rip your head off, and I'm not talking the one on your shoulders!" she snarled. Arran gulped, freezing.   
  
"You wouldn't..."   
  
She glared at him. He let loose a weak smile, handing her the black shiny reciever. She put it to her ear.   
  
"Yello."   
  
"Zena," Gabrielle's voice was vibrant, "We have to meet for lunch today - Gods - I had the best night last night!"   
  
Zena frowned, "Gods?"   
  
There was a sudden silence, "Um - er - Yeah I was watching this show about polytheism - kinda rubbed off on me."   
  
Zena frowned, "Okaayyy...."   
  
"Anyway - lunch, today, my place."   
  
Zena sighed, "Okay okay - what time?"   
  
Again, silence, "Lunch time I presume..."   
  
Zena narrowed her eyes, "I'll be there at one."   
  
"'Kay."   
  
Zena frowned for a moment, "Hey - how did you know to ring here?"   
  
"Well, you weren't at home, so..."   
  
"So you assumed I was at Arrans, that'd be right..." Zena growled, "Well - nothing funny happened! I just made sure Arran got settled and-"   
  
"Hey," she said, a definite smugness in her tone, "You don't have to explain anything to me."   
  
"Goodbye," Zena muttered, handing the phone to Arran.   
  
"Seeya," Arran added before placing down the reciever. He looked to Zena who sat with arms crossed, sheets sitting around her hips, a dark scowl marring her elegant features. "What?"   
  
"She thinks I was up to funny things with you."   
  
Arran lifted the corner of his mouth, his brown eyes glowing, "You are up to funny things with me."   
  
"Yeah but," she sighed, Arran sliding an arm around her hips, "I don't think she really needs to know."   
  
"What... you 'fraid to admit you think I'm a big hunk of sexy man?" he said from next to her navel. She glared at him, till he kissed the curve of her hip-bone, his tongue flicking out after it. Her eyes half-lidded and she curled her top lip.   
  
"Talented you may be," she said, "Big hunk of sexy man you ain't."   
  
"Oooh, I'll change your tune," he said, his voice thick and husky, his lips travelling down the top of her thigh.   
  
"Like hell..."   
  
Arran cocked a brow, his eyes raking over her tanned amazon form. With a sudden yank he pulled at her legs, splaying them and yanking her under him. She let out a savage "Raaaaaah!"   
  
He leant on his elbows that were either side of her head, her eyes wide and feral. A grin flashed in her face, and her legs clamped his torso, flipping him over on the mattress, his legs now flailing in the air. Their heated breaths filled the room as they began a violent dance of domination, Zena landing on his rippled lightly haired abdomen, pinning him down with his legs. He jabbed at her with his hands, but she blocked him with a swift left-right action that brought sweat up on her olive skin. Her breasts swayed, the muscles straining behind them, and with a snaking of her arms she slapped his down flat, up behind his head. She had him immobile, splayed under her, his face inches from hers. She could feel his struggled breaths brush her face, his chest rising and falling, running against hers. Her skin raged on fire, the movement of his hair against her breasts bringing her nipples up firm, the sensation driving her mad. He grinned a little, angling his head down and running the tip of his tongue over her nipple, guiding it into his mouth with wet thrusts. She growled, shifting, bucking and pinning him flat.   
  
"So," he lifted an eyebrow, "You have me - what are you gonna do with me?"   
  
The corner of her mouth crept up, and she swept her lips down onto his, plundering his wet depths with a playful kick to his side as he lurched up underneath her.   
  
  
  
She placed down the reciever of the phone beside the bed, a long sigh leaving her. She couldn't quite believe it. After the past 24 four hours she thought she should have been ready for anything freaky life pulled at her. She just rediscovered an identity that had been dormant in her for 25 years of her life, but constantly alive and growing, she was united with her long lost love from thousands of years ago, and he COOKED and CLEANED for himself. Not only that he was an amazing singer. So... she had scored beyond belief, and life was grand, so things were unusual beyond belief. However she would have never, ever expect for Xena, or Zena as she was in this life, to succumb to Ares after all this time. Well, maybe she could. She just couldn't believe it decided to happen the night she remembered everything, when it would be the biggest shock to her system. Though, thinking back to when Zena and Arran were just Zena and Arran, it would have been pretty shocking then too. Though probably more amusing than anything. She sniffled, wiping her nose, the gorgeous smell of frying eggs invading her senses. Wrapping the sheet around her she padded out of the bedroom, smiling as she was met with a gorgeous look that set her soul alight.   
  
"Hey," Joxer grinned warmly, wiggling a fry-pan, wearing only a slack pair of jeans and an open burnt orange shirt, "Aren't you glad there's so much food around these days?"   
  
Gabrielle gave a suspicious smile, "Those *are* hens eggs aren't they?"   
  
Joxer smirked, "No, they're goose, just like you like 'em."   
  
Her face fell.   
  
Joxer shook his head, "I'm kidding Gabby, sheesh! I don't even know where you'd GET geese eggs in this day and age!"   
  
Gabrielle lifted an eyebrow, "From a goose?"   
  
Joxer looked up from the pan, a level look on his face, "2000 years and your sense of humour hasn't improved?"   
  
"Ha-ha," she muttered, stepping over to him and flicking his ear.   
  
"Ah-how!" he rubbed his ear, a good-natured smile on his features, "Here, try my eggs..." He forked out some of the scrambled yellow morsels and held it up to Gabrielle's mouth. She wrapped her lips around the fork, and pulling off the egg she chewed, closing her eyes.   
  
"Mmm!" she sighed, "That's so good."   
  
"The best, got better." He winked at her.   
  
She shook her head, leaning back on the sideboard opposite the stove. Fingering the edge of the sheet she wore she raised a brow with a smirk. Joxer looked over his shoulder, a fascinated smile on his features. It soon spread to cheeky as she loosened a tucked in corner of sheet. She pulled back the sheet suddenly, flashing him, and covered herself again with the other half of the sheet, back, forth, Joxer's eyes flicking side to side at the fast motion.   
  
"That's it!" he hissed with a grin, dropping the cooking utensils and diving for Gabrielle who squealed with a giggle.   
  
  
  
She wasn't quite sure what it was about uptown cafe's that annoyed her so, but she knew it had to be a vast range of things. Perhaps, it was the fact that Zena rang back and insisted that they meet at one after waiting half an hour at Gabrielle's apartment to be greeted by a silent and dour white gold number-bedecked door. Or perhaps that she had to rip herself away from the arms of her brand spanking new old ancient lover which she was rather getting used to having around her. One morning and she remembered it all like it was the other day. Though it was most likely the restrained and practiced courtesy the waitress was giving her as she gave Gabrielle the lunch and coffee menu that ticked her off, and the way everyone around her also seemed to be retreating behind their black shiny sunglasses in the absurd LA sun. The groggy tingle of alcohol from the night before lagged her every movement, and as the fresh steaming coffee was put under her nose, she gave a hearty sigh of gratitude. The waitress ignored her.   
  
Al fresco dining. What a stupid idea. The Europeans were full of ridiculous and stupid ideas. The Scots for example. Her father was proudly Scot. With a name like 'Charlton Baird' you'd hope to be. Though it was rather fortunate a last name for her - Gabrielle Baird has a wonderful ring to it and was easily remembered as a writer's name. It also seemed strangely ironic to her that her profession of the past was a bard. Bizarre. She huddled in the badly designed fancy chair under the umbrella of the small cafe table, shrinking away from the light and the noise around her. She heard a sudden scuffle, and Gabrielle started, glaring up. A dark angular brow lifted at her.   
  
"I'm so sorry," she said, her voice barely audible with fear.   
  
Zena pressed her light-grape-coloured lips together, sinking into the chair across from her best friend.   
  
"I really am," she continued, "I just - I was - I totally forgot the time and-"   
  
"You were busy fucking Jock," she nodded, "I know, it's okay."   
  
Gabrielle sighed, cradling her head in her hands, "I'm so sorry."   
  
"Stop apologizing," Zena said in a rough tone, snatching up the menu and tilting her head down as featureless black shiny Nana Mascouri glasses reflected back the neatly printed words and prices.   
  
Gabrielle lifted a brow. "You forgive me?"   
  
"No," Her friend sniffed gruffly, "Your apologizing is just pissing me off more."   
  
The bard sighed again, burying her heads in her hands, "Gods..."   
  
Zena dropped her menu suddenly, her lips set stonily at the blonde, "Why the hell do you keep saying that?"   
  
"Force of habit after that documentary," laughed Gabrielle nervously.   
  
"Well quit it will you - it's driving me nuts."   
  
Gabrielle took her bottom lip in her teeth, looking away with the submissive cringe of an animal dominated. Zena eyed her movements, the uneasiness between them breaking her steely resolve.   
  
"Okay okay I forgive you," she growled, "Fuck knows why I sit and watch you get cock-whipped."   
  
"Ffft!" Gabrielle snorted, "You can talk."   
  
Zena glanced up at Gabrielle, "I beg your pardon?"   
  
"You are so crazy for Arran," smirked Gabrielle, sipping her coffee as she shook her head.   
  
"I am not!" Zena gasped quietly, glaring at the waitress as she approached her. "Flat black!" She poured herself a glass of water.   
  
"I'm sorry but with the banter I heard this morning, coupled with the fact you didn't get home last night..."   
  
"Did you see how fucked he was?" Zena said, a few patrons glaring at her colourful language, "He could barely walk straight! I made sure he got home okay!"   
  
"I'm sure you did."   
  
"Gabrielle..." T  
  
he blonde looked up, raising her brows innocently. The look of guilt settling on Zena's face nearly startled her, and as the brunette woman leant her head on splayed fingers, Gabrielle felt a definite sense of worry become her.   
  
"Zena... is everything all right?"   
  
Zena shook her head, pulling off her sunglasses with a rough yank, looking to the clanking business of the cafe interior, "Arran said he loved me last night."   
  
Gabrielle shrugged, "Sure, so?" She wasn't sure if the feigned casualness was particularly convincing, inside she was gob-smacked.   
  
The blue eyes struck green with alarm, a fear flashing in them, "Gabrielle - he meant it. He really meant it!"   
  
"Is this your commitment fear coming out to haunt you or..."   
  
"No," Zena shook her head, "Nuh-uh, something different, something - okay look this sounds totally bizarre right?"   
  
Gabrielle felt her body stiffening. "Go on..."   
  
"I feel like - I've known him before."   
  
A strange laugh burst from the writer like that of a person who'd fallen on that particular sore spot on their bottom cheeks that somehow invoked laughter when in actual fact in was incredibly painful. She shook her head, sipping the coffee, avoiding Zena's sharp gaze.   
  
"That's um - that's just natural," she nodded, "You know - you feel like that when you know someone a long time. Yes?"   
  
Zena leant back as the waitress placed her flat black in front of her with two trendy looking paper tubes of sugar. Zena spared a harsh glare at the woman before ripping at the paper tubes and emptying their contents into the black brew in front of her. Zena spoke, her words rough, soft, haunting in a way Gabrielle couldn't quite make sense of.   
  
"Gabrielle, this is something - different." She clamped her eyes shut, shaking her head, "I should-I should stop it, break it up with him."   
  
"No!" Gabrielle felt herself yelp, a few heads of the other cafe patrons turning to her and giving her a stiff look of disapproval of such an unfashionable outburst, "Zena, no."   
  
Zena frowned, "I hadn't realised the relationship meant so much to you."   
  
"No, it's not that," Gabrielle sighed, "I don't know, I feel like that you should stay with him. I don't know why... just, trust me on this."   
  
"I trusted you to be at your place at one."   
  
Ouch, the writer cringed, Zena held no punches. She sighed again and nodded.   
  
"I know, I know but - please Zena - if you trust your crazy feelings, for a moment can you trust mine?"   
  
A dark cloud of doubt seemed to have settled around the unbeknownst Warrior-Princess before her, and the woman slowly nodded.   
  
"I'm trusting you here," she said, "Don't you let me down, or I swear..."   
  
Gabrielle took a hold of her best friend's hands, smiling, "I know... I love you Zena."   
  
Zena glanced up, a little taken aback at the expression of affection. She smiled uncomfortably, blushing slightly and glancing around her.   
  
"Sure," she mumbled, "You mean a lot to me too Gab..."   
  
Gabrielle patted her friend's hand as a waitress sauntered over to them in a little tight black tee-shirt and sleek black pants.   
  
"Are you ready to order?" she asked in a tone that was rude in a totally hip way.   
  
"Yes!" Gabrielle smiled brightly, taking the menu in her hands, "The pesto salad with chicken thank you!"   
  
The waitress merely glanced at Zena as a sign she was waiting for her order.   
  
"Foccacia," she said, "Sun-dried tomatoes and fresh parmesan and artichoke hearts included please."   
  
The waitress rolled her eyes about as she stuffed her pad and pencil into her dark-grey apron. Zena watched Gabrielle hand the menu over to the woman, and with a twitch of the corner of her mouth she spoke.   
  
"How did things go with Jock last night?"   
  
Gabrielle grinned at the mention of the name, a delirious glint in her jade pools, "Oh Zena... it was incredibly dreamy!"   
  
"You screwed him, didn't you?"   
  
Gabrielle knew she was going to say that. She pushed past the offense she felt and pursed her lips prettily, "We didn't screw. We made love."   
  
"Love?" Zena snorted, "You only met him yesterday!"   
  
"I know," Gabrielle nodded, fighting back the blush she got whenever she lied, "But - it's one of those destiny things. You know..."   
  
"I don't know," Zena said pointedly, "No one does."   
  
"Well," Gabrielle shrugged, "I feel like I do. Like, for once in my life, God's saying 'Hey Gab - it's your turn for a little bit of happiness, here's a slab of destiny and don't eat it all at once'."   
  
Xena gagged on the rough tasting coffee and glared at her friend, "You haven't been smokin' anything funny have you?"   
  
Gabrielle blinked. "No!"   
  
"Okay," her friend nodded slowly, "Just checking."   
  
  
  
It was at this point as her little red toyota cruised down Santa Monica Boulevard that Gabrielle thought maybe, perhaps, any semblance of self-respect she had got thrown out the window the second she saw Joxer's ass wrapped in black denim like a pack of chicken breasts on show at the specialty butcher's. Her actions of the past 48 hours would have been deemed appalling by her own self not 72 hours previous. She was a woman of morals, of high values. Love before sex, marriage before babies, beer before beernuts. Of course she also had a perfect track record of standing by high morals then throwing them out the window like yesterday's dirty knickers the second a tall gorgeous person had walked into the room.   
  
When she had walked down the street towards her favourite shop in South Bend, the tall leggy woman had stepped from a shaken wreck of an old yellow ford that had gotten to that state over a time of negligence, flicking her long jet black locks from her high-boned face. She was exotic, beautiful, powerful. She had looked down at her own dumpy form, her legs wearing leggings in a very very calm shade of grey, her ankles bound in white socks and sneakers, her curvaceous top half hidden in a large blue t-shirt that had an alien face crudely printed on the front in an offensive green, with pretend tour-dates on the back naming the many planets of the solar system and several ridiculous years of visitation. She'd thought it funny when she got it from the novelty t-shirt shop. At that moment she wished she could curl up and hide.   
  
It was too late. The woman folded up her sun glasses and strode over to her, introducing herself, and eying a scary looking black man in the distance also stepping out of a car, a sleek grey number. Her calm unruffled eyes seemed to flutter slightly with a call for help.   
  
She'd fled South Bend with Zena in the space of a month, found an agent in LA and by a miracle of God (or what Zena said was the blatantly inevotable) sold some stories to a major publishing company.   
  
Then, she remembered, was the wonderful little night they'd met Arran in Frostbites. Somehow, he'd managed to talk her into a shot of tequila. Sure, she'd sworn to herself she'd never touch alcohol, she thought she hated losing control. Arran said quite matter of factly that it's an illusion that we have any control, that in fact we are all quite lost in the currents of our follies. Deep, she'd thought. And enough of an excuse to try the innocent looking clear beverage. She watched the trace of salty powdery goodness get trailed on the peach coloured curve of the edge of her hand, bracing herself. Zena just knocked back her whiskey with a dark amusement, her eyes never leaving that of Arran's, an accustomed despising in the sharp pools. Lick, gulp, bite - AARRRGH! Gabrielle had let out an incredible whoop as she gulped for air. Her tongue burned, her head felt like it'd been slapped about with an angry lemon. She then staggered off her stool and promptly collapsed for a full two minutes. When she gained consciousness, Arran suggested a strawberry daquiri. She groggily accepted.   
  
So just as she'd felt she'd made a new life for herself here in the sunny dank dirty town of Los Angeles, palm trees slapped around the terrain like they were nobody's business, lining avenues and roadways like spiked bowing warriors at bay, that stupid scruffy-haired good boy she'd spent half her God-damned life avoiding in South Bend rocks up. Oh... he had joined the army. Perfect. Just - PERFECT!   
  
Then, he laid on the idealism thing. She hated how idealism was her weakness. It was like her very own narcotic that no-one else knew of. Other women, they had diets, they had fitness products. They had shopping, dresses, shoes, wigs, make-up, bath products, or like Zena - obscure ancient weaponry.   
  
Gabrielle had religions. She had a shelf in her spacious apartment totally crammed with books detailing numerous philosophies. There was the way of the Great Goddess Anne of the Moon, the way of Light, the way of Love, the way of Christ, the way of the Pagan Horned God, the way of the Earth, the way of Krishna, the way of Mohammed, the way of Buddha, the way of the Nik-Nik tribe of some weird little place in Africa. All of them said so many things to her - she never knew which one to choose, which one to follow, which one to be. She felt incredibly annoyed with the universe, and the many religions, that she *had* to choose at all. What was the big deal wth that?   
  
Nonetheless, she collected the self-help books, the Celestine System, the aura guides, the palmistry instruction manuals. Peace, not war. Love, not hate. These things she maintained.   
  
And in walked Peter. All trussed up in his army fatigues looking all scrumptious and different. His large brown eyes seemed to call her, and she got angry. She hit him - how dare he risk his life for bloodshed? The smart ass came out with the right answer - giving of himself. He had to give of himself because he had nothing in his life now that she had left South Bend. Bastard.   
  
So he leaves her in waiting for months, leaves her weeping and wailing and writing Viking stories of lost love, Civil War stories of lost love, French Revolution stories of lost love, until her publishing company brought her in and asked her very nicely to stop giving them such depressing stories because they'd not be very good for business and could she just make the endings a little happier so they'd sell better? With a sudden wail and cry of hurt artist integrity she stormed out of there. The next day she called up and apologized rather meekly and asked if they'd forgive her for such an unfashionable display because her boyfriend was out of town and it was getting her down.   
  
Gabrielle turned down an exit, swearing out at a man behind her sixties styled black sunglasses. She recieved a waggling rendition of the bird.   
  
So, when he came back, she married him. Biggest mistake of her life, that was for sure. The sex was great she thought. Now she knew better God-dammit all. Peter was like... a warm blanket next to a burning fire. Except your feet are cold, and you just don't get quite warm enough to feel content. Joxer had been like - the splashing of melted chocolate over your writhing naked body with it having laviciously licked off inch by inch. She blinked, swirving the car.   
  
"Shit!"   
  
Pay attention to the road you silly bitch, she thought to herself, eying the green volvo she'd narrowly missed. It had destroyed her to hear that Peter had lost himself in some grotty little section of Somalia. The destroyed little peices jumped up in revolt and terrible anger when she heard from one of Peter's relatives that he'd returned to South Bend with a nubile negro number with perkier tits than a Renoir rendition of the ideal woman. Back went his things, smash went his portraits and then in a blind rage she'd attacked the bonnet of his car with the pulled out length of dowel from a mop. She quietly thanked God for the existence of her growing wealth and access to shifty no-good lawyers that happened to be on her side.   
  
Needless to say her parents were exceedingly disappointed in her. If they only saw who she was involved with now. Not that she cared. Stuffy parents weren't going to marr *her* destiny, not in the rerun life of the combined Star Trek series'!   
  
The specially renovated out warehouse Gabrielle was after seemed to elude her for now, and her eyes roved over building numbers in the hope of finding the right one.   
  
Joxer had astounded her. As soon as she'd taken stock of the repetitious life she'd found herself in, (in which she was convinced was proof that Joxer and her were *supposed* to be together *and* remember everything), she was completely blown away by Joxer's talents. She remembered the stumbling idiot he'd been in less than hygenic Ancient Greece (he was the cleanest warrior *she* knew, Xena included), and marvelled at the powerful soul he had blossomed into. Maybe two thousand years of spiritual evolution did him some good.   
  
The thing was, Joxer had never been a very good warrior. In fact, he'd been terrible. Really really bad. It never occured to her that shoved away in a dark little corner was that phenomenal talent of voice and lute, in fact she'd never thought twice about this aspect of him after the adventure with the Bacchae. She was just glad to have her healthy complexion back, and the damned ridiculous sized black claws off her hands. A thought settled in her mind, soft and nudging. Jace... he'd been so hard towards Jace. At first she thought it was just blatant homophobia. At a more enlightened and knowing perspective... it had been the music. How could she have not seen that? Jace was what Joxer wished he wasn't so ashamed to be - a musician. Joxer tried to be something else and failed. He never was a warrior in the technical sense - he had always been a musician, battling to hide a side of himself that fed his soul but was something he had been tortured by.   
  
And now! Now - he was like a fish that had wiggled off the docks from a fisherman's grasp and leaped into the wild crashing sea. Flitting and spreading crystaline fins that moved him with such subtlety and grace he hand never known on the land, a place of warriors. His place was in the feirce passionate currents of the arts... at her side.   
  
Finally, after yet another convoluted side-street, she spotted the converted warehouse, "Guitar-Suite Studios" splashed on the side. She could hear the muffled thumping of drums slip through the front door of the studio, augmenting her heartbeat so renewed and inspired. She locked her car door, hefting her hand back over her shoulder. She dug into it a moment, her hand running over something rough. She pulled it out.   
  
One one side, the stencilled words of "Guinness" floated in an oval shape. She turned the procured coaster over, and on the reverse side of a soft gold hue was the wild frenzied marks of her black pen that seemed to hug the emerging shape of Joxer milking the violent tender strains of his music from the wailing guitar. She smiled, stuffing it back into the bag.   
  
  
  
  
  
Arran stretched on the bed, the sounds of Saturday morning in the energetic city filtering in through the window of the modest bedroom of his apartment. He felt a smile float across his face as he arced his muscled body in a languid roll, a tanned rippled arm reaching up and adjusting his bedside clock so he could see it. Hmm... 1 pm. He was thoroughly glad they didn't need him at the club that night.   
  
He yawned, long and wearily, the shit-eating smile unable to leave his handsome features. A song tumbled through his mind, and he hummed in his easily sensual tone, wrapping the black silk sheets up around his lower torso for no other reason than the slippery fabric felt luxurious. Dropping it as he opened to door to his bathroom, he stepped inside, looking forward to a long warm shower. He looked at his mussed form in the mirror, a day's worth of stubble catching up to his small goatee. He grabbed his toothbrush, stepping into the small shower recepticle, trying to pick out of the mess of his thoughts some sembelance of a plan for that day. He was forgetting something... No - no it was nothing otherwise he'd remember.   
  
One thing he definitely knew was that after Zena had eaten with her bubbly friend, he would meet her at the gym, have a few bouts of kickboxing, and then probably nuzzle her all the way to his house to have more sex again. Bugger the nightclub - he had the woman of his dreams now.   
  
His seemingly immortal bout of afterglow that was thoroughly wrapped up in plans of Zena was cracked as one name flashed into his mind.   
  
Aphie.   
  
Shit shit shit SHIT, he swore to himself, squirting out some men's shampoo rather aggressively and rubbing it into his hair. This was not good, not good at all. His damned SISTER was coming around this afternoon - and he really couldn't let her down. Not just any sister, no, the blonde one with all the charm of a power-drill. She even had the audacity to keep the name her mother gave her, instead of changing it like every other sane sibling of theirs had. Aphrodite, Aphrodite. How incredibly self-aborbing, he thought. Her and her dinky little boutique with perfumes - sorry - parfums - and lingere and flowers and soaps and little sachets of aphrodesic herbs. Okay, so her boutique wasn't so little. It was a chain. A chain of them. And she was doing pretty well. It all the more served to inflame his irritation of her.   
  
Not that he didn't love her - she was his sister. And of all his siblings (the many many siblings) she was one of the few to kind of stand up for him every now and again. In a round about way. Usually a small word here, or a buttering up of Daddy there, and the heat would be off.   
  
He stepped out of the shower, towelling himself off briskly, worry growling in his belly alongside hunger. Damn... he had to call Zena, explain to her. He would still have the evening to be with her.   
  
"YooohoooooO!!"   
  
He clenched his jaw, clamping his eyes shut and shooting a sigh through his nose.   
  
"In a minute!" he called, racing through the bathroom door, promptly sliding across the bedroom floor on the folds of black satin bedspread he'd carelessly left lying there and into his similarly black wardrobe. Ow.   
  
"You gonna let me in?"   
  
"Yeah!!"   
  
He staggered through to his front door, wriggling into the slacks and shirt he'd grabbed on his way. The door squeaked in complaint as he opened the door after wrestling with the locks.   
  
"Wow," the woman blinked indignantly, "Don't rush or anything! Sheesh!"   
  
"I was in the shower," Arran said, closing the door behind his sister.   
  
Her straight golden slivers of hair fell in a layered bob around her jawline, flicking up at the sides in seventies vogue. She wore a light pink silk shirt that hung around her voluptuous frame, and a leopard print skirt that clung to her rounded hips.   
  
"So!" She turned around, perching herself on his predictably black leather couch, "Is there a reason why you've been avoiding your own family?"  
  
He sighed, rolling his eyes and walking past his sister to collapse onto his couch, "I've been kinda busy."   
  
"Yeah," nodded Aphrodite, earrings bobbling, "Getting into that butch chick's knickers."   
  
"Zena," Arran said, "Her name is Zena."   
  
"Yeah Tina shmina whatever," she waved a hand and sank onto the couch next to him, "Point is, Dad's pissed."   
  
"Dad's always pissed," Arran said, "And ninety percent of the time it's with me, I'm used to it."   
  
"Well it's not like you've had to most inspiring of existences," she said, "Like - beer, and women, and more beer, and drugs, and women."   
  
"Never the heavy drugs," Arran said, "And I always work out."   
  
"Arran," Aphie looked him dead in the eyes, "You're in your mid 30's. You're still single, and you're still working at that damned loser bar!"   
  
"It's a club," said Arran, "And I'm the head bouncer, as well as managing the bar after 9 o'clock. I worked hard for that."   
  
She sighed, shaking her head, "What are you doing with your life here? With this chance you've been given?!"   
  
Arran met her alarmed gaze, reading it carefully, "Waiting for her."   
  
"For Xena?!" Aphrodite exclaimed, "You've been waiting for her forever!"   
  
"And I found her, Aph," he said, his voice husky but even, every seriousness in his tone, "She's mine again."   
  
The woman blinked, her jaw lax with doubt, "No way."   
  
"It's true..."   
  
"Nuh-uh," Aphrodite shook her head, "It can't be that simple or -"   
  
"It is," Arran said, "It just - all fell into place."   
  
"Man!" She sighed, standing up suddenly, taking a stride around the room, "Sheesus! After all this time..."   
  
"Yeah well," he sighed back at her, "This is my one chance to work things out you know? To sort myself out and stuff."   
  
Aphrodite's eyes lost the harshness of before, the fluid warmth of understanding overflowing in the blue orbs. She turned back to him, walking over to him and sinking herself into his lap with a small pout.   
  
"You're really crazy on her - you waited all this time?"   
  
Arran nodded, blushing slightly as Aph pulled him into a hug, his face being pressed to her chest.   
  
An audible 'thunk' filled the room, and Arran glanced up, nearly jumping out of his skin at the dark figure looming in the doorway.   
  
"Who the HELL is that?!"   
  
"Zena!" Arran leapt out from under his sister, wriggling away from her before striding to the doorway, "Babe."   
  
The woman at the couch burst into a fit of giggles, "Her name is ZENA?! Oh my GOD! That's so funny."   
  
"Yeah hilarious," growled the towering brunette, "Who the FUCK is SHE?"   
  
"M-M-" Arran clamped shut his eyes, his cheeks burning red.   
  
"Relax, toots," the blonde woman pulled herself up off the couch in a ripple of curves, "I'm his sister, Aphie."   
  
The anger came to a screeching halt on Zena's hard features. She swallowed.   
  
"Oh."   
  
"Yeah," Aph nodded, spotting a familiar bound book on Arran's bookshelf and sliding it out. She flipped through it, stealing a glance to the blanched sibling clutching his chest as he lowered himself onto his couch. "Heeere we go - family dinner, four years ago."   
  
Zena looked at the photo in the book, the hair of the woman much more frizzed and curly then. She pouted, flipping back the pages, seeing the faces grow younger, but 'Aphie' being present in many of the photos. She blushed, flicking back some long black hair, toeing the ground.   
  
"Sorry."   
  
"Hey, chill," the blonde grinned infectiously, "It's cool! I just came to say hi to my big bro here! He didn't tell me he'd have company!"   
  
Arran shot a weary look at his sister, who propped her hands on her hips.   
  
"I'm - I'm sorry," Zena said, pointing her thumb at the door timidly, "I can go..."   
  
"Aww no way," said Aph, "Stick around! Arran's told me a whole bunch about you!"   
  
Zena cocked a lip, "He has?"   
  
Arran sank down lower onto the couch, going positively beetroot red.   
  
"Oh totally!" she said brightly, "Has he told you about the time he sat in a plastic lego tub and his cousin Herman had to pull him out?" 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: A Time For Us   
  
  
  
Joxer shook his head, lowering the guitar and mouthing several things Gabrielle knew were expletives with a worn smile. He turned to Andrew who shook his head at himself, running a hand through his tied-back hair. Joxer let out a vocal sigh of amusement.   
  
"Come on, man ... How many times have we been through this riff?"   
  
Andrew nodded, waving a hand, "I know man I know - sorry dude."   
  
"Now stop starin' at Meg's balcony and play the riff!"   
  
Meg put her hands on her hips suddenly and jiggled them prissily, dropping a jaw at Joxer.   
  
"Watch it Jock," she said in a husky tone, "Don't want me giving your name a different meaning now do ya?"   
  
The singer grinned, a chuckle echoing through the mild voice effect. Joxer hefted the guitar, sparing a quick wink to Gabrielle, "Don't worry baby, we're nearly done."   
  
"Oh yeah," Andrew rolled his eyes and leaned forward to the mic with a grin, "So the sugar can only be thrown about by the sex bomb?"   
  
Joxer chuckled, "Put it away, Andy. Just keep your mind on the music while we're forking out dough for the studio time, right?!"   
  
"Yeah okay," he nodded, "Sorry Jock."   
  
"It's cool," he nodded, "Sorry Aut - uh - Andy."   
  
Gabrielle squinted her eyes in shock. Damn - he came so close to saying the name, the old name of his bassist. She was glad she didn't have to talk to him yet, she was sure she'd let it slip. She'd spent the past 15 minutes going over the band member's future names in her head. Andrew, not Autolycus. Ian, not Iolaus. Meg - still Meg. She glowered. There was a pang every time she looked at that face. An inner venom of jealousy that had never died in her. She watched Joxer bop as the music ran to a steady rhythm, his thighs pounding booted feet to the floor with shudders, his shirt fluttering open freely to the middle of his chest. His hair flipped about his eyes, and she grinned at the sight of the dopey man so powerful in his element.   
  
The song rolled up and finally finished after many tries, and Joxer curled out from under the guitar strap, nodding and smiling finally.   
  
"It worked that time guys," he said, "It's fantastic."   
  
"You did good too, Jock," Ian smiled, "But you keep us back this late again and I'm leavin' when you said I'd be leavin', you got that?"   
  
Jock grinned knowingly, "Sure buddy, but we got a big gig next week, I's just making sure we knew our stuff."   
  
"Yeah yeah," Ian said, shaking his head, "And Nel will really thank you when I get to my next match of squash half an hour late."   
  
Joxer winced, "I hate crossin' Nel."   
  
"Nel hates crossin' you, so watch it," the drummer said, sliding a drum into a black cover.   
  
Meg unplugged her keyboard, a smile beaming over to Andrew. Such a repor. She wondered why they never hit it off in her time, thinking about it they were perfect for each other.   
  
"Hey, you awake?"   
  
She glanced up, seeing Joxer standing in front of her, unscrewing a microphone stand he'd dragged with him. She smiled with some bewilderment.   
  
"You really run a tight ship huh?"   
  
Joxer blushed and nodded, "You have to I mean - they know it's nothing personal. I don't mean it half the time, it's just the way it is."   
  
She nodded, "God, must be hard putting up with that."   
  
"Naah," he shook his head, "Me and the guys - we've been playing for years."   
  
"Yeah? Wow..."   
  
"It felt strange today though," he grinned, "Telling Iolaus what to do!!"   
  
Gabrielle broke into giggles, "Man you're so lucky he can't remember who the fuck you are!"   
  
Joxer grinned tensely and nodded with wide eyes. He relaxed and laughed with her.   
  
"I'll help the guys pack up and I'll meet you here in a minute."   
  
"Kay," she smiled, leaning foward as he kissed her breifly. He turned, diving into the foray of the packing up, and she silently watched him converse and move, existing in a new world that was completely perfect for him.   
  
Perfect. It was a word that featured a lot right now. She missed the forests, the nature, the smell of burning wood, but oh! The conveniences of the twenty-first century. The baths, the hair-care products... the condoms! Sex and no babies - what a luxury!! The fast food, the beautifully comfortable beds. And no fighting. Not that she saw. Sure, there was crime in the streets, but there was law enforcement for that. She wasn't going to become some vigilante any time soon, that was for sure. What worried her was that if Zena remembered she was Xena... what would happen?   
  
It was something that began to wind steadly up inside her like a clock spring. Every time she spoke to Zena, she perpetuated the lie by saying nothing, revealing nothing. She thought of how broken, how enraged Zena would be if she knew she was with Ares.   
  
A sudden thought struck her. Did Arran know he was Ares? And if he did... did he know he was taking advantage of Xena?!   
  
She frowned. It was something that was suddenly very important. As Joxer turned and waved to his friends, she felt her lips tense. He strode towards her, wagging his arms into the sleeves of his leather jacket. The sight of Gabrielle's deep frown made his face turn serious.   
  
"Hey," he slipped an arm around her, "You okay? You look worried or-"   
  
Thousands of years hadn't dulled his senses a tad.   
  
"Um," she shook her head, pulling him out to the parking lot, waving to the other musicians that got into their cars, "I was just thinking about Zena and Arran."   
  
"Yeah," Joxer nodded as he unlocked Gabrielle's door, "What about them?"   
  
Gabrielle sat down in the passenger seat, waiting for Joxer to join her in the car. He slid his guitar into the back seat, throwing in the leads and sliding his microphone box on top of it. Slamming the doors he settled in the car, clicking on his seatbelt.   
  
She looked to him, "What if Arran knows he's Ares?"   
  
"Huh?" Joxer frowned at her.   
  
"Arran. What if he knows he's Ares."   
  
Joxer jutted his jaw to the side, his lip poking out absurdly. It was a relief to Gabrielle, seeing that expression on him. She resisted the urge to throw her arms around him and smother him in kisses.   
  
"Then," he shrugged, "Do you blame him?"   
  
Gabrielle looked to him with a cock of her brow, "Excuse me?"   
  
"Well, if he is still a God," he said, revving up the engine, "Then... uhh..." He squinted, and diving his hand into the glove-compartment he pulled out a container, "Can you get my glasses out of that?"   
  
She opened the case carefully, handing him the thin-rimmed classes tenderly, "I never knew you had eye-sight problems..."   
  
"You kiddin'?" Joxer shook his head, "I never realised I was blind as a bat! Half the reason I was a clumsy dick."   
  
"You were never a dick," Gabrielle said suddenly. Joxer tilted his head with a look of doubt and Gabrielle chuckled, "Okay sometimes you were an ass, and even a jerk, but never a dick."   
  
"Thanks," He said with a twist of his lips, and Gabrielle patted his thigh.   
  
"That's okay, honesty is my policy."   
  
"Shit!"   
  
The car swerved and Joxer's jaw tensed, "Gabrielle, you drive me wild honey but please - not while I'm drivin'..."   
  
"Oh!" Gabrielle blushed, "Shit I'm sorry." She withdrew her hand from his inner thigh and looked sheepish.   
  
"If I weren't busy I'd kiss you on your gorgeous noggin," he said, "Hey - weren't we talkin' about something else before?"   
  
"Arran - Ares."   
  
"Oh!" Joxer nodded, sliding on the glasses. Gabrielle was surprised - he looked incredibly intelligent and sophisticated with them. "Um," he continued, "Thing is... if he's a God still - and I doubt that cause like - they all died out or something - then he's been waiting for Xena an awfully long time."   
  
Gabrielle nodded, "Yeah..."   
  
"So, really, if Zena is Xena, and their basic personalities are the same..."   
  
She gave a snorting laughed, "Boy are they ever!"   
  
"Then," Joxer tilted his head again, "Really, Zena has made her choice hasn't she? I mean - she knows what she's doing."   
  
Gabrielle nodded, "I know but... isn't it like taking advantage of her?"   
  
"Only if Zena doesn't know she hates him. And half the time it was pretty dubious as to what the hell she really felt for the guy."   
  
"Arran is like Ares on valium," Gabrielle said with a thoughtful pout, "He hasn't so much got the need to be evil to people, just the need to a general bastard and drink himself to oblivion."   
  
"He's lonely that's why," Joxer shrugged, "I think that's been his problem the whole time I mean - look at his family! Sure! That's a healthy environment! Hi Uncle Hades who is the father to my half-sister's half cousin!"   
  
Gabrielle frowned, "I never thought of it like that."   
  
Joxer shrugged, "I dunno. I only known Arran a few days - I mean Ares - but he seems like a pretty harmless guy to me. It's the twenty-first century, I really don't know what he would want to do to her."   
  
The bard leant forward in the seat, leaning on the dash-board, "World domination, computer viruses... sabotage."   
  
Joxer sniggered suddenly, shaking his head, "I don't think so."   
  
Gabrielle lifted a brow, "Huh?"   
  
"Arran would have to get up before 11am for all that shit for one thing, for another he might be a bastard but he hasn't got an evil bone in his body."   
  
Gabrielle screwed her face up in incomprehension, "Joxer - it's Ares!!"   
  
"I know," Joxer nodded, his tongue rolling over his bottom lip as he turned the corner, "Ares, in the twenty-first century, thousands of years of warfare he's probably lived through, all those people he's lived with on earth probably dying, that's if he's been living on earth all those years - and then there's the being seperated from Xena all those years which - I mean - I was away from you for long enough and it's killed me."   
  
"Yeah," Gabrielle nodded, "Gods, this is such a mess."   
  
"I know," Joxer said, rolling the car up his driveway, "But we got each other."   
  
She smiled, leaning towards him, "You're right."   
  
He watched her for a moment, pushing his glasses up, "Sweety?"   
  
"Hmm?" she said, sliding her arms around him.   
  
"How did you get to the studio?"   
  
She blinked, "I dro-" She shut her eyes, a heavy sigh shooting from her, "Fuck! FUCK! I - I drove and I forgot my fucking car!"   
  
"Kmmph," Joxer slapped his knee, sniggering suddenly, "WOo!"   
  
"Stop it!" she pouted, "Dammit I - I just - Oh man I'm so embarrassed!"   
  
Joxer shook his head, revving up the car and redoing his seatbelt, "Come on dopey, let's get your car."   
  
"That's the last time I come visit you at band practice."   
  
"Oh you'll be back," he grinned, looking to the back of the car as he steered it, "Sometimes I wear the vinyl pants."   
  
She narrowed her eyes, "Oh that's unfair..."   
  
The ceiling of the dojo was something Arran had grown accustomed to - even to the point of knowing it intimately. He didn't mind, he'd get his own back in the next round, but in the weekly bouts he had with this woman, either he was getting worse or she was getting better. He wouldn't have been surprised if it was a bit of both.   
  
What had become really amazing was the different air the san shou session had been this afternoon. It was just friendly sparring, nothing like the intense sessions they had during the week, and after half-an-hour he was looking forward to some lifting in the gym next door. It was *how* friendly the sparring was that surprised him.   
  
There was something intensely sexual about their match that made him glad he was wearing the slack black gi pants of the sport. He ducked, jabbed, rolled, punched, and she dipped and sidestepped fluidly, tipping him to the floor with a quick kick. He felt the floor roll up and slam him, and he sighed. There it was again - hello ceiling.   
  
"What the hell is up with you?" she panted, "You haven't won one bout!"   
  
He wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand, taking Zena's proffered hand, "Had my mind elsewhere."   
  
"Yeah well you're the only sparring partner I've had that's been able to stand up to me," she said in a low husky growl, "So don't go soft on me!"   
  
He grinned suddenly, "Never."   
  
There was a low chuckle and Zena clenched her eyes shut, "Does that slut have to follow us everywhere we go?"   
  
Arran tipped his head, "Well... it's the regional san shou centre, Ze."   
  
Zena narrowed her eyes and sighed, "Yeah but she's such a pain in the ass."   
  
Arran smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead gently, taking Zena by surprise. The tender gesture surprised her, and running a hand on her head she looked up to him. He rose a brow in question. Zena just smiled.   
  
"Well, if it isn't Butch and Sundance," Callista sneered. "Practicing for the finals, Zeze?"   
  
Zena curled a nostril, and with lightening reflex she let a leg flick out, kicking the blonde from her feet. Callista chuckled from the floor, shaking her head.   
  
"I guess you ask a stupid question and you get snooty answer," she said, pulling herself to her feet. She stood close to Zena, looking Arran up and down behind her. His hand grabbing the brunette's hand possessively sparked a smile on the blonde's face. "Awwww," she tilted her head, grinning, twirling a finger around a wragged lock, "Are Butch and Sundance in love?! What a bolt from the blue! I'd never have thought YOU two would get together!"   
  
There was a decided sarcasm in Callista's tone and Zena just smirked.   
  
"Don't let the jealousy eat you up too much, Cal," Zena said, "There's plenty of bozo's in the sea just perfect for you."   
  
A flash struck Callista's large brown orbs, and a tight smile took her face as she grabbed her bag at her feet, "Seeya in the ring, Zeze."   
  
Zena frowned as the blonde skulked away, with her proverbial tail between her legs. Guilt errupted within her and she sighed, "I'm such a bitch."   
  
Arran gave a strangled cough, "What?!"   
  
Zena sighed and shook her head, "I really shouldn't go down to her level like that. I think I hurt her feelings this time."   
  
Arran shook his head, "That bitch doesn't have feelings to hurt."   
  
Zena frowned, turning Arran around to look at her, "Ar - everyone deserves a little respect. Even if Callista's behaviour doesn't demand it."   
  
With that, Zena turned, throwing off her hand wraps and heading for the gym.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The blonde woman threw a slew of punches at the punching bag as she jumped up and down, her body flowing like silk as the wave of power ran through her and into the canvas bag. Her eyes were drilling into the bag, red at the rims which Zena tried so hard to ignore in the other room.   
  
Zena stepped forward from the array of fitness devices to the punching bag in the corner, a sadness in her blue orbs.   
  
"What do you want Zena?" Callista said through a huffing breath, "Come to kick me whilst I'm down?"   
  
Zena tightened her lips, shaking her head, "No. No, I came to apologize."   
  
Callista's stark brows lifted, and she propped her wrapped hands on her slim hips, eying Zena, "What for?"   
  
Zena's brows now descended, and she met the other woman's guarded gaze, "I'm sorry for what I said I - I hadn't realised I could upset you."   
  
Callista snorted, laying into the bag again, "Like you care."   
  
Zena shrugged, sitting on the edge of a lifting machine, "I don't like upsetting people, believe it or not."   
  
A laugh fell from Callista, and she shook her head.   
  
"Oh that's rich," she shook her head, "You act like a stiff bitch and you say you don't like upsetting people? God! How stupid do you think I am?"  
  
"It's true," Zena said, "And I'm not a stiff bitch - I'm only like that around you, and in the ring. Which, truth be known, is the only time you ever see me."   
  
Callista rolled her tongue about in her mouth, looking to Zena with a sceptical gaze.   
  
"You up to something? Is that what this is? Cause nothing you say is gonna make me hold back next week at the finals."   
  
"This has nothing to do with the finals," Zena said, getting up, "And everything to do with me going over the line. Rubbing my relationship with Arran in your face was a spiteful and awful thing to do - and I'm sorry I did it."   
  
Callista narrowed her eyes, "I would have done the same in your position."   
  
"Would you have apologized?"   
  
Zena had tilted her head, looking to the young woman long. The woman shrugged, laying into the bag again.   
  
"Probably not," she said, "But I'm not you am I?"   
  
"No," Zena shook her head, turning to leave, "You're not."   
  
She strode forward, just about ready for some lifting, when she heard;   
  
"Ze..."   
  
Zena turned her head, meeting the uncertain gaze of Callista.   
  
"I um - I accept your apology."   
  
Blinking, the brunette woman nodded with a wary smile, and she turned and walked through to meet Arran. He was pulling off his light-weight boxing gloves, stuffing them into his sport's bag.   
  
"Did you have fun slinging shit at her?" Arran said, not looking at her, concentrating on filling the bag with his things.   
  
"I apologized."   
  
Arran shot a look to her of utter shock, "You did what?!"   
  
Zena toed the ground, "I apologized for the jealousy crack, it wasn't nice."   
  
Arran gave a snort, "It's Callista, babe, I wouldn't spare the woman a piss if she was on fire."   
  
"I'd spare her a bucket..."   
  
Arran frowned, "You'd spare her a bucket of piss?"   
  
"No!" Zena sighed, flumping down on the mat on the dojo floor, "Water you idiot. I just... I'm sick of fighting with her. It's been going on for years."   
  
"She's still a bitch," Arran said, hefting the bag onto his broad shoulder.   
  
"So am I," Zena said, looking up to him, "What makes me any different?"   
  
Arran grinned, "You got style."   
  
Zena shook her head, letting Arran pull her up, "Ar, that's not good enough. I deserve the same treatment as her."   
  
Arran watched her eyes as the gleamed with a torrent of guilt, and he rolled his lips, reaching a hand out and touching her elbow, easing her towards him. He slid his arms around her, pressing her to him tenderly, and brushing some hair from her ear he sighed.   
  
"The difference between you and Callista, is that you're in here, feeling remorse for the cruelty you've dealt her, and she's in there, convincing herself she doesn't care."   
  
Zena looked to his eyes, astonishment flowering within her. She never thought she'd hear anything that made so much sense from the likes of Arran. His brows tilted up, his eyes gazing into hers doing to her soul what his hand was doing at her jaw, cradling and stroking it gently. It was at that moment she realised with a yawning sensation that perhaps Arran was ... he was more than this, more than beer and women and pot and an annoying family. He was more than all of it. She swallowed, a shudder taking her as if she thought a ditch in the street was pretty deep, and turning she'd seen the great gaping expanse of the Grand Canyon and felt quietly stupid for thinking a ditch was anything to go 'wow' at.   
  
"What have you been hiding from me," she said suddenly, tenderly, "Hmm? Why do you pretend to be some smart-ass bastard when you're like this underneath it all?"   
  
Arran shrugged, "I've always been the bad guy," he said, "The guy to blame, the guy to be angry at. Never known anything different."   
  
She frowned. Bad guy. The whole sentiment jangled in her with a fierce sense of deja-vu, and she shook herself.   
  
"We should go do some weights," she said suddenly, grabbing her bag from her next to her feet.   
  
"Hey."   
  
She glanced up to Arran. He pulled her up, and with a faint smile he pressed his lips to hers, soothing her with a warm melting kiss. She felt a shiver run through her, and a smile lifted her features a little. She ran her hand to his neck, caressing him there a moment before getting back to her fitness state of mind.   
  
Yes, she thought to herself, something was very strange with Arran. She found it quietly appalling that she'd never noticed it before. Perhaps it was last night, coupled with Gabrielle's behaviour this morning. Her and the whole Jock thing. She wasn't sure why it shook her so badly. The entire situation just made her mind fuzzy, as if she were staggering drunk and the room was spinning airily about her. Again and again she pushed it from her mind, refusing to figure out why it was disturbing her so greatly. And it *was* disturbing her, as if there was something she was refusing to see, something she didn't want to know about. Except she had absolutely NO idea what it was or why she'd want to refuse to see something 'cause she was a brave and valiant woman, not one to hide from responsibilities or adversity. Yet this was - bigger - than anything she had to face in her life. She knew it. Worse than puberty, the day she knew she'd have to grow breasts and stop playing with the boys so rough, and the day Wham got in the charts. Yep, a lot worse. Worse than her parent's divorce? Seemingly so.   
  
And she pushed it from her mind, again. Right now, for a cosy moment, she was happy. She wasn't angry with Arran, in fact she was slowly falling in love with him, and her best friend was blissfully happy, and even though she was a little hung over, she was in fine form. Arran, was another story. It was certainly the last time she was letting him get that smashed. She needed him. For erm - for practice and stuff yeah. Needed him for practice sparring.   
  
Denise, dark hair, deeply brown eyes that seemed almost black, buxom form and petit visage, pouted her blood-red lipsticked lips with much impatience. She wasn't in the mood for this. She barely ever saw her twisted cousin Aphie, and she made sure it stayed that way. She was thoroughly convinced that Aphie was a complete freakazoid in the most offensive of ways.   
  
She was tall, she was blonde, she was busty, she was skinny. That was bad enough. The reek of cheerleader varsity in the woman's talk just made her sick. Not that she was ever a cheerleader. She was always too 'cool' to be a cheerleader. Cheerleaders get sweaty, and sweaty was so unhip.   
  
But she was trashy, she was normal, she was what all women thought they wanted to be and it was a joke.   
  
Denise, however, knew that she was what women really wanted to be. Her black hair was piled up on top of her head, kept in place by japanese hair fastenings, and her eyes splashed with wild deep dark colours. Her skin was painted with the luminence of glitter dust, and her body clothed in the fine dark garments of death and depression. Pleather and platforms shod her feet, and long burgundy silk gloves with netted black gloves over the top ran from her elbows to her hands, the fingers cut out messily. In her gaudy black pearly nailed fingers hung a cigarette, and the girl rose a brow at the blonde woman across from her at the table. She threw on a pair of black elegant sunglasses, chewing her gum indignantly.   
  
"Aphie," she said, taking a drag on her cigarette, "Will you quit with the chit chat and tell me why the fuck you're even talking to me at all?"   
  
Aphrodite squirmed in her seat with an uncomfortable, her nose wrinkling at the cigarette, "Um, it's kinda like this - see - you and Arran, you have an understanding right?"   
  
She shrugged, "I see him at the odd gig or two, he's a member of my family that I don't despise - yeah."   
  
"Right," Aphie nodded, "Right! So like - I need you to help me out here, I mean I wouldn't ask unless I was really really desperate-"   
  
Denise snorted a laugh, "Surprised you didn't come to me before then."   
  
Aphie narrowed her eyes and sighed, "I'm ignoring that, 'cause I care for Ar."   
  
Denise blinked, chewing the gum with some shock, "Really?"   
  
"Yes!" she nodded, "Of course I do!"   
  
The goth shrugged, "Then what's got your pasty pink g-string panties in a twist then eh?"   
  
"Well, he's recently gotten with Zena right?"   
  
Denise watched her fingers fiddle idly with the cigarette in her hand like a cat with a mouse, "Yeah..."   
  
"Well you know, I've gone through the change, you have - we all have. We're all ready to move on - except Ar and - I really really know it now. This is his chance-"   
  
"You said that the last time," Denise said, eying her cousin darkly.   
  
"I know I know," she waved a pink-nailed hand, "But like I'm really certain this time ya know?"   
  
"Why?"   
  
Aphrodite eyed Denise, splaying her hands out on the table and leaving a silence ominous enough to pique the goth's idle interest. "Xena came back - as Zena. And she's the same - all of it's the same! Right down to Studmuffin and Whiney the Wonderbard!"   
  
Denise frowned at the cigarette, and dragged her gaze over to Aphie with a confused frown, "Really?"   
  
Aphrodite nodded thoroughly, "Yes! I think this is his last chance to get a clue, Denise, or he goes" She pointed down.   
  
Denise seemed to grow a little serious, her eyes glinting, "He goes permanently down - lower?"   
  
"Forever," she said, "A sad bastard, on a lower spiritual plane," she sighed, putting her face in her hands, "He's been the same for thousands of years. Never changing... maybe he's scared or-"   
  
"He has changed," Denise said with a frown, "You better fucking believe he's changed. He's just not a fluffy kinda guy."   
  
"If that's so, then why hasn't he ascended at all?" Aphrodite said with a pout.   
  
"I dunno," shrugged Denise, "Why ya lookin' at me for?!"   
  
"I don't know," Aphrodite sighed, "Just don't tell Mom okay? She'll be like 'ARRAN! Why ya not get de beyoodiful woman yet' Stupid old cow."   
  
Denise sniggered and sighed, "Well who knows. So why you need my help so bad?"   
  
"I don't I just," Aphrodite looked to her, "Just help him out if he needs it - kay?"   
  
Denise met the serious glow of the crystaline blue eyes across from her. It was amazing to think such a diametricly opposite woman was her blood relation.   
  
"Sure," she said, "Like I don't look out for him anyways."   
  
"Thanks," Aphie sighed with relief, knocking back the last of her coffee. She regarded the younger cousin a long moment. "You know, I've always admired your eveningware."   
  
Denise blinked, "You have?"   
  
Aphie nodded, a surprising sincerity there, "Except I wouldn't go with the black on black dress code but..."   
  
"Yeah well you see me steering away from pink."   
  
Aphie looked Denise up and down, "I think pink might go well with your style if you used it right."   
  
"Are you tripping?" the younger woman curled a lip.   
  
"No no no," she shook her head, pulling the girl up, "Just trust me."   
  
"I trust you as far as I can throw a dead rat without pukin," muttered Denise, butting out her cigarette and pulling out another.   
  
Aphie shook her head, "That is so grody..."   
  
Denise grinned. "If it disgusts you, then it's my pleasure!"   
  
"You should have seen it," Zena said, shaking her head, "I feel like such a bitch."   
  
"You're not," Gabrielle said with a smile, folding up a shirt into an overnight bag, "It's not your fault that one of the many moments you defend yourself, Callista decides to feel sorry for herself."   
  
"She has every right to," Zena said, "Everyone treats her like shit."   
  
Gabrielle narrowed her eyes in a bewildered smile, "She's just getting back what she deals out."   
  
Zena gave an uncertain curl of a nostril, "Well you know what it says in the bible an' shit... Violence begets violence... it's the same with bitchiness."   
  
Gabrielle giggled, "You're quoting the good book now?" She shook her head as she stuffed some socks into the bag, "You're starting to sound like my mother."   
  
The statement seemed to fly right past Zena as she gazed to the window. The past two days had been unsettling. She shook her head and sighed.   
  
"Anyway - why even bother packing an overnight bag? May as well just move in at the rate you two are going!"   
  
Gabrielle glared at her best friend, clutching a sweater slightly. A frown settled on her face, "You think we're going too fast?"   
  
Zena gave a weak smirk and shrugged, "Shit I don't know. Do I look like Dr. Laura?"   
  
"Thankfully, NO," Gabrielle said as she zipped her bag up, "Come on - we have a gig to catch, and if we wanna see Joxer we're gonna have to catch him before Hot Spandex get on."   
  
"Yeah..."   
  
Gabrielle turned and blinked at her best friend staring off somewhere past the opposite wall of her bedroom. "Zena... Are you okay? This thing with Callista really shook you up huh?"   
  
Zena's eyes lifted to meet Gabrielle's, and the same disarray that had filled her before at the gym shook her again. She shook her head a little, shrugging and lifted a shaking hand to her bangs, wiping them from her brow.   
  
"I - I don't know. Just - everything in the past couplah days it seems... I don't know. It's wierd, it's making me feel weird."   
  
Gabrielle sat down slowly, a caution, maybe something more, glowing in her eyes, "Like weird how?"   
  
Zena glared at her friend guardedly, "You know I don't believe in that hokey crap you do..."   
  
With half-lidded eyes of tolerance Gabrielle nodded, "Yeah."   
  
"All that funny vibe crap... I just - every time I see Jock and you together something in me just rings this bell and I get - this is so dumb - I get the weirdest sense of deja-vu," Zena looked to Gabrielle, shaking her head again, "It's more than just that, than what I said at the cafe today. I swear, Gabrielle, something really strange is going on. Jesus, I must sound like a fucking fruitcake."   
  
"No," Gabrielle shook her head fervently, holding her friend at the shoulders, "Zena, you never sound crazy."   
  
Zena gave a restless moan and waved a hand, "I am and this is fucked up stuff."   
  
Gabrielle sighed, rolling her eyes in thought, "Look... why don't we just go to the gig tonight, watch Jock, and try to enjoy ourselves hmm? The fun might settle you down."   
  
"I don't know if I wanna go," the woman scowled.   
  
"Why not?"   
  
Zena sank her head into her hands, "Arran's gonna be there."   
  
Gabrielle shut her hanging jaw, "Wh- I thought you liked him!"   
  
"I do," said Zena, "That's my problem."   
  
Gabrielle smiled, grabbing her friend's hand and squeezing it, "It's okay to be scared of falling in love, Zena."   
  
Zena glanced to her friend, her brows rising, "What makes you think I'm falling in love with him?"   
  
Gabrielle shrugged and smiled again, "Well, it's pretty obvious... hanging out with him, thinking about him, mooching after him-"   
  
"I do NOT mooch," snapped Zena, glaring at her friend, "I ponder, I muse... I do not mooch."   
  
"Ookay," the writer shrugged, "Whatever you say."   
  
"Oh don't you 'whatever you say' me, at least I knew the guy a few years before I fucked him."   
  
Gabrielle glared back at Zena, "What?!"   
  
"You heard me," Zena said, folding her arms grudgingly. Gabrielle shook her head, grabbing her back and storming out the door.   
  
"At least I'm not in denial!" she shouted, "You can let yourself out!"   
  
Zena bit her lip, "Shit... Gabrielle!" She jumped up, chasing her friend out the door and down the steps of her apartment, "Gabrielle wait!"   
  
"No!" the younger woman said, grabbing Zena's things from inside the door and thrusting them into the woman's arms, "I'm so not in the mood for you and your shits tonight Zena. I'm not Callista to be yapped at like a bitch!"   
  
"I did not YAP at you!" Zena growled, "I just-"   
  
"Barked!" Gabrielle said, "And you practically called me a slut!"   
  
Zena sighed, "Gabrielle! It was a joke! Stop overreacting!"   
  
Gabrielle rolled her green eyes, "You're the one going super-bitch just because a guy actually cares about you! You tell ME who's overreacting!" At that the blonde stomped up the steps to her front door. Zena ran forward to meet a freshly slammed door, complete with shuddering knocker. The cruel silence of the door daunted her, and glancing up to the second story window she gasped.   
  
"Shit... GABRIELLE!"   
  
Nothing. What a fucking night. 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: A Night to Forget   
  
  
  
Frostbites, in it's gauche neon lighting and ice-castle motif furniture, was fit to burst with darkly clad bodies, bright colours punctuating the crowd on feminine shapes and set hair thick with hairspray. The mingled smell of heady cologne, cheap beer, cigarettes and the stronger liquer ran through the club, each spot in the hang out having it's stronger elements. The writer sat at the table, impatience in her bearing, her dark-haired friend gazing back at the bar of club with as much restlessness. The tension was palpable as Zena moped with a dark scowl and folded arms, Gabrielle gritting her teeth giving her silence in return. Zena felt it a miracle they were sitting at the same table right now. Though if it weren't for Arran with them that night they probably wouldn't even be here. Or she wouldn't be anyway. Maybe. Conversation... needed to be made. She had a spirited urge to fix everything, it wouldn't leave her.   
  
"Where are those drinks he promised us?" she growled with some uncertainty, "I'm thirsty."   
  
Gabrielle shook her head, her lips tight and refusing to move.   
  
"Are you going to give me that pathetic silent treatment all night?! Honestly - how fucking old ARE you?"   
  
Gabrielle gave a hot sigh, lifting her hand and shaking her head with a prissy jiggle of her shoulders. Zena swore under her breath, shaking her head. This was fucking ridiculous, and swearing at her obviously wasn't the way to go. Idiot.   
  
"Hey!"   
  
Zena turned, scowling at the voice of her love cutting through the background chatter. The scowl lifted as his lips deposited a brief kiss to her cheek, the soft scratch of his goatee sending her heart a-flutter. She smiled to him, the gesture not touching any other part of her face but her lips.   
  
"Hey..."   
  
He pointed behind him to a darkly dressed woman approaching the table, "My cousin Denise decided to tag along tonight, you don't mind if she sits with you guys, do you?"   
  
"Arran," groaned the sharp young voice, "I don't need to be babysat!"   
  
"You're only 20, yes you do."   
  
Denise rolled her heavily made-up eyes of obsidian, sinking to the table with the two women.   
  
"It's fine," Gabrielle said. She glanced over to the newcomer to the table, and promptly choked on her beer.   
  
Arran glared at her, "Gab - you okay?"   
  
She lifted a hand, hocking and coughing roughly, "Hang on," she croaked, taking a swig at her drink, "I'm fine."   
  
Zena frowned at her best friend, bewilderment completing her heart-wrenching cocktail of depression and confusion. She leant to the younger woman, a soft frown on her features.   
  
"Gabrielle, talk to me - are you okay?"   
  
Gabrielle gave her a flat glance and looked back to the stage.   
  
Arran patted Zena's shoulder, sliding over the two drinks the women had ordered. There was a sudden cheering as the lights went down and one went up on a guy at centre stage. Zena felt her heart fall with the lights, the opportunity to chat with Gabrielle being taken from her, an urge to wring the guy's neck very strong. Idiot Joxer. The light on him was white, pure, the spots on his band filtered and coloured. Gabrielle grinned wide and cheered wildly, Zena's heart stinging at the sound. As she glanced to Arran she saw his young goth relative lean over to him.   
  
"That's the guy?"   
  
Arran nodded, "Yup. This is The Bards."   
  
Denise rose a brow and nodded idly as she stabbed her drink with a black shiny straw, "Cool."   
  
He looked over to Zena. The woman's eyes were fixed on his, blue and gem-like as something in them rang whilst the sounds of the event around her seemed to make no impact. She managed to smile at him only slightly, looking down and battling tears after a moment. She glanced up again. Worry reflected back at the woman from the eyes of her newly become lover. She couldn't reassure him. She couldn't let herself pretend, not when something in her seemed to tremor at everything around her. She listened quietly to the band, their music rolling over her, familiarity building within her. Every thump of her heart send a shockwave around her, everywhere she looked something begged to be remembered, aching through the agony of the rift between her and her best friend. Something in that rift recalled something deep, something lasting, it frightened her beyond reproach.   
  
Her eyes met that of her best friend, gazing adoringly to the man on stage. His gaze back to the crowd, so filled with love... Her breaths filled with a tight fear. Gabrielle clapped suddenly, looking to her best friend. Zena felt the tears brim her eyes, blurring her vision. Gabrielle frowned a little, her clapping ending short.   
  
"Zena..."   
  
"Oh! Jock's fan club has an extra member!"   
  
Shit! Just as she gets a word out of her! Zena narrowed her eyes, turning to meet the brown eyes of Callista, glaring at her blackly. The orbs of the woman in front of her, body swathed in fishnet and pleather, were hollow, sad, and she could see an animal trapped and resorting to routine gazing back at her. But Callista was no animal. Anger errupted in her, sweeping away her disorientation.   
  
"What's your problem?" muttered Denise, lighting a cigarette. Callista fluttered heavy-lashed eyes at Denise.   
  
"Obviously not the same as yours," Callista said, the lack of enjoyment of her heckling evident in her hollow expression, "So who died?"   
  
Gabrielle shook her head absently, impatience in her features mingled with pain, "Callisto, go find your fun elsewhere."   
  
Zena's heart stopped, and she glared at Gabrielle, her lips dropping the name like a hot potato, "C- Callisto?" The name stung her somehow, the pain that was already inside crushing her like a wave.   
  
Gabrielle's eyes grew wide as she glanced around her. Callista too had wide eyes, a frown on her face.   
  
"What did you call me?"   
  
"Oh - me and the history channel!" Gabrielle chuckled, "I meant Callista - I've been watching too many shows on Mythology! Silly!" Her eyes floated over to Zena.   
  
Zena felt blank, confusion painting every emotion with the same broad clumsy brush, the world rocking uneasily as gravity pulled her heart down to her feet. She felt pulled from the reverie as a strong hand grabbed hers, yanking her from the table. She blinked, realising who it was.   
  
"Arran - what are you doing?"   
  
"You look sick," he said flatly, glancing to Denise and nodding as he pulled Zena with him out of the club.   
  
"No! Arran! I have to talk to Gabrielle!"   
  
"Zena!"   
  
The voice of Gabrielle cut through the noise of the night-club but faded as Arran urged Zena on.   
  
"Tomorrow," he said, the look in his eyes not forceful or cruel, rather haunted and scared. He gripped her strongly, stronger than she'd ever known him to hold her, all her strength resulting in the useless flapping of limbs in the disgraceful display of man dragging woman from bar. Blurs of colour and moment smudged past Zena's eyes, nothing making sense, nothing understood... just a hollow unending chasm of agony opening up before her, ready to take her down into it, despite her ache to escape it.   
  
Denise glared at the woman gaping at the scene across the table from her. Gabrielle breathed brokenly, her chest tight with fear and regret, her hands quivering at her glass of beer. What the hell just happened? Gabrielle tried to calm, find reason in the moment. Her anger towards Zena had flitted away at the tears she'd seen in her eyes. Callista looked between the two women, her own eyes filling with tears.   
  
"I um - I gotta go..." The blonde punk wagged her hands with a little desperation, her eyes to the brim with a similar fear. She threw herself into the crowd, "Get out of my WAY!"   
  
Denise looked to Gabrielle, shaking her head slow, "Good one, Gabrielle."   
  
Gabrielle looked to Denise, her heart shrinking back in her chest.   
  
"What?" she murmured.   
  
Denise shook her head again, pulling out a mobile phone and stabbing at it, "You may have just fucked everything, little girl."   
  
"Little-" Gabrielle frowned, "You're younger than me..."   
  
"Ha," Denise said putting the phone to her ear, "You wish," She shifted her attention to the voice down the phone, "Yeah hi. No. Get bent! Problems, big ones. The Annoying Bimbo apparently knows. Yeah - she just gave the whole thing away! Said Psycho-Barbie's name in front of her. Ye-ha! Well what do *you* suggest?! Whatever - I'll meet you there." Denise pressed off the phone and shoved it into her bag, glaring at Gabrielle. "It's nice that you remember who you were, really, but honestly! Some of us don't have the luxury of a free ride of a life like you do."   
  
Gabrielle frowned again, confusion filling her, "You... you know?"   
  
"Yeah of course," the girl huffed, "I've been pretending to be mortal for the past 5000 years, of course I know. Gotta run - have to fix up this damned mess you made. Seeya."   
  
Gabrielle watched the dark slinky woman stalk from the club. Looking down to the table she sat at, she saw the half-finished drinks, still burning cigarettes and lingering perfumes of her friends, and loneliness engulfed her. She glanced to the stage. Joxer leant at the microphone, oblivious to anything but the music. Gabrielle felt a sob rising within her, and grabbing her purse she ran to the stage, bouncing below the mic with eyes filled with tears.   
  
The brown calm eyes of Joxer opened and he smiled only briefly at Gabrielle before seeing her distress. Worry flashed across his face and he glanced to the band-members, mouthing to them before singing another line and tapping his foot nervously. He kept singing, fingers shaking at the fret. Gabrielle bobbed up and down some, tears spilling hot down her face.   
  
With a nod, the man looked to Andrew who picked up the tune as Joxer bent over to Gabrielle.   
  
"What?"   
  
"Zena - she's - I stuffed up Joxer! I think she's remembering who she is. And I saw Discord - she yelled at me! Something is going on, Joxer, something serious!"   
  
Joxer glanced helplessly back at the stage, and jumping up he grinned at the crowd. He looked to Andrew, leaping over to him and shouting in his ear. Andrew glared at him angrily, and Joxer obviously begged at him, his body bending in a comically subserviant position. Andrew rolled his eyes, nodding, pointing an index finger at him. As the song finished up, Joxer leapt to the microphone, grinning again.   
  
"Hi everyone! Well, Andrew is going to finish the set - my sister is having her baby and I'm the Godfather." He swallowed and waved, "Seeya!"   
  
Without another word he pulled off the guitar that he wore, placing it down and leaping off the stage. Gabrielle joined him as the rushed out the door. 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: Cosmic Repercussions Make for Good Discussion   
  
  
  
Arran was silent as he lead her into his apartment, Zena pliant and distant, quietly devastated. She frowned at him, watching him close the door to the apartment, putting the locks into place. She sank onto the couch, her heart numb beyond comprehension. Something was so close... something. Everything had been a something of late, and she was sick of that vagueness. And Arran knew, she could see it in his every movement, in the fear in his eyes. He knew exactly what was worrying her, what had shocked Callista so much, what Gabrielle was hiding. Hiding... something was being hidden. She knew when Gabrielle was lying, and she was lying now. Why the hell she was covering - this secret something - up with Ancient Greek Mythology was not as mystifying to her as she wanted it to be. It all felt too close to her soul. Arran disappeared to his kitchen, pulling out mugs and tea.   
  
"Arran..." Her voice was wavering, fearful.   
  
"Hmm?"   
  
"You know what's going on..."   
  
There was an abrupt clatter of a teaspoon falling to the floor, and the man emerged from the doorway. "I didn't know there was anything going on."   
  
She jumped up, anger ripping through her, "You do! Something is going on here, don't lie to me."   
  
Arran closed his eyes, running a hand through is short cropped hair, "I don't - I'm not. Trust me on this okay? Nothing is going on."   
  
He was so scared, she could sense it clearly. How could he even begin to believe she couldn't feel that? She shook her head, standing and approaching him.   
  
"I've fought opposite you for years. I know when you're going to attack. I know when you'll lunge. I read you like an open book, Arran. And you-" She pressed her lips together, fighting tears, "You expect to say 'I don't, I'm not' and NOT mean it, and get me to believe you?! What kind of fool do you think I am?!"   
  
Arran sighed, lifting his hands to touch her.   
  
"No!" she said, jumping back and lifting her hands, "Don't fucking touch me, not until you damn well tell me what's going on! Gabrielle knows something - you know something! Am I dying or something - what?!"   
  
Arran's eyes were large, his eyes to the brim with the wetness of tears. In all the years she'd known him, she'd rarely see a genuine emotion from him other than lust. It shook her, seeing the sadness resounding in him, disappointment and shame. "I can't..." He shook his head, "I love you."   
  
"Yeah yeah yeah," she waved a hand, glaring at him, "If you love me then damn well fill me IN!"   
  
A tear spilled down over an elegant cheek, his lips shaking a little. Swallowing, his throat bobbing, he turned and went back into the kitchen. Anger inside her crashed into the agony of suspicion. The idea of any of her close friends keeping anything from her tore her to pieces.   
  
"Arran..."   
  
Nothing. She grit her teeth, spinning around and running to the door. She had to get out of here, try to collect herself, try to patch herself up enough to try to sort out why the hell the world was turning against her.   
  
"Zena-"   
  
She slammed the door on him, and it felt good. Her feed pounded the corridor carpeting as she escaped to the lift swiftly, trying to keep herself composed. If she had to collapse into a balling mess of melodramatics, she may as well do it somewhere quiet and dark and mellow.   
  
Denise bolted up the corridor of the plush inner city apartment, ignoring the security guard racing up behind her. It had taken her long enough to get here, hopefully she would be home so she wouldn't get hitched up by this guard on her ass.   
  
"GET BACK HERE!" the burly guard shouted, "This is a PRIVATE BUILDING!"   
  
"And I'm a private PERSON buddy!" she snarled, "Now piss off!"   
  
"You're not supposed to be here without checking in to the front desk and getting an okay from the resident!"   
  
"Bite me!" she spat, knocking on the door of the apartment roughly. She swore as silence followed.   
  
"Ms. Ioulianos is not in tonight, and if you want to meet her you'll have to go to the book signings like every other girl!"   
  
"Dite!!" she shouted into the door, thumping on it, "Come out here you GREEK BIMBO!"   
  
The guard caught up, grabbing the young woman's arms and grappling her backwards from the door.   
  
"LegGOAMEEEE!!! She's my cousin you JERK!"   
  
"Yeah! OW! She's everyone's cousin girly! Shit! Stop hitting me!"   
  
The white door so recently abused swung open, the face of the ex-Goddess of Love hung in shock. On the floor of the corridor in front of her was a knot of kacki uniform and black fishnet limbs, the guard swearing as Denise laid into him with fists embellished with large silver rings.   
  
"Woah! Denise! OFF!"   
  
Denise shrank back, her teeth grit in rage, her black eyes flashing at the guard. Aphrodite sighed, rolling her eyes.   
  
"Stanley, for future notice - this is my cousin Denise. Go get stitches for that gash..."   
  
Holding a hand to his profusely bleeding forehead, Stanley the guard nodded fractionally, "I'm sorry miss I thought-"   
  
"Get fucked," Denise snarled and stomped inside the apartment.   
  
Aphrodite sighed, scratching behind her ear, her hair in wet draggled locks and her body clothed in a silky pink bath-robe, "Wait here Stan." Re-emerging she stuffed a couple of notes in his front pocket, "Sorry."   
  
"It's okay," he said in a wavering voice, "I'm going to go home now..."   
  
She nodded, rolling her eyes and closing the door behind her. Leaning against the inside of the door, she glared at the pacing girl in the main of her living area, bedecked in white and pink marble and rather Grecian decor. On the wall above her fireplace hung a replica of Botacelli's "Birth of Venus".   
  
"What in Daddy's name is your problem, Denise?" she cried, folding her arms, "Why you gotta beat everyone up all the time?"   
  
Denise glared at her as she strode past her and into her bedroom, "The guy was gonna escort me out of the building, in case you didn't NOTICE!"  
  
"Yeah yeah yeah," the blonde called from her room, "You know you're supposed to buzz in at the front desk."   
  
"No one was THERE!"   
  
"Whatever," came the sighed reply, "So what's happened since you called?"   
  
"Arran just grabbed Zena and yanked her right out of there. Zena was in some piss with Gabrielle I think. Serves them right, stupid jerks."   
  
Aphrodite sighed as she strolled back in, resplendant in jeans and tight-fitting pink t-shirt, towelling off her hair with annoyance in her eyes, "Where is she now?"   
  
"With Ar, I assume," said Denise.   
  
Aphrodite blinked, "You mean you didn't follow them to make sure?"   
  
"I had to meet you!" Denise retorted, "No Goddess powers, honey, I can't just zap around the place remember?!"   
  
"God," Aphrodite shook her head, "This is so messed up!" She rubbed her brow then squinched her nose at Denise, "So does Zena actually *know* or..."   
  
"She's figuring it out," said Denise, "It's not gonna take long for her to have 2, find 2, make five and get totally whacked out."   
  
"Shit."   
  
"My words exactly," Denise said, "And if she rings true to her former self she'll chuck a complete thrombo at Arran..."   
  
"And when Arran is hurt," murmured Aphrodite.   
  
"He hurts himself and other people," Denise finished darkly.   
  
Aphrodite's brows pushed down in determination, perfectly manicured hands grabbing Denise and pushing her to the door, "Come on! We gotta find Arran and Zena, fix this up! You find Zena."   
  
Discord whined, "Oh God, Why me?"   
  
Aphrodite held up a thumb and forefinger to silence her as she grabbed her phone and began to thumb in a number. Denise rolled her eyes, crossing her arms impatiently.   
  
"Yello... hey bro! Just checkin' up on ya sweety. Wassup? Why not, I'm your sister, you're supposed to talk to me. You mean you're all there on your lonesome? Aww..." She looked to Denise, her blue eyes sparkling with worry, "Well what about Zena, I thought you'd be hanging out with her. Oh. Right. Well- you didn't chase her? You jerk! Of course you chase her - that's why people walk out of places, so they can be followed! Yeah well - No no no. I'm - no it's okay - you look for her silly. Okay. Seeya."   
  
She dropped the phone down onto it's reciever, shaking her head darkly, "Shit."   
  
Denise widened her eyes in question, "What?"   
  
"Zena walked out of his place."   
  
"Did he say why?" asked Denise.   
  
"He refused to tell her what Gabrielle was hiding. She figured it out that far I guess," Aphrodite shook her head and sighed.   
  
"Shit," Denise sighed back, "If I know Ar, and I so do, he is probably so freaked out right now."   
  
Aphrodite nodded, tagging Denise's arm and pulling her out the door, "Come on!"   
  
"What - where are we going?"   
  
"You're finding Zena and I'm catching up with Arran."   
  
Denise stomped a foot and snarled, "Wh- Why do I get Zena?"   
  
"Duh!" Aphrodite rolled her eyes as she locked her door, "Zena knows you!"   
  
"Oh..."   
  
When she sang that night, for some reason beyond her she felt hollow. The peals of self importance she had been armed with all those years had been wrenched away with a name... Callisto. So close to hers, but something in that bard's tone of voice, the way her green eyes flashed with detest, the protective grimace of Zena so close by, something snapped within her, and the agony that had hidden within her all those thousands of years crashed down upon her shoulders. She cradled her tumbler of vodka and lemon, swigging it, enjoying the wracking abuse it laid on her tongue and mouth, self hatred building within her past any level she'd ever known. She barely noticed the black wraith-like figure floating into the bar, careening over to her with a dangerous speed.   
  
"Has Zena been here?"   
  
Callista looked up, her eyes slow and brimming, "No."   
  
Denise scowled at her, "You figured out what your problem is yet?"   
  
The blonde woman gave a hollow laugh and shook her head, "Nope."   
  
"Gods' balls," muttered Denise darkly, "It's been thousands of years girly, can't you figure it out?"   
  
Callista glowered at the goth and shrugged, "Tricky problem, it's taking me some time."   
  
"Yeah, whatever," shrugged the dark girl back at her, "I'm outty."   
  
"Hey..."   
  
Denise turned at the call of the blonde. A chill went through Denise as she saw the large brown orbs of the woman that called her. She could remember the delirious madness, scathing hatred that lived in there before. Now there was something far, far more dangerous.   
  
"You don't want Xena to know who she was," she said, "Only because she's useful to you. Is that really fair?"   
  
Denise snorted, "Shit I don't care if it is or not."   
  
"I do," she said, running her finger under her chin as she gazed at a Budd-lite advertisement glowing in blue steadiness, "She's fucked me over so many times, I've lost count, dear."   
  
Denise just watched the woman stare off, her eyes growing sharp.   
  
"I think she should know the truth, don't you? Know who she's fucking, who she's not fucking. Know who she killed... who she didn't kill... who she tortured and despised."   
  
Denise rose a brow, "If I remember rightly, she spat you out between her legs and had you latch onto her tits for ages too, bitch, so stop yer whining and move on already."   
  
At that Denise turned, striding from the bar.   
  
Callista blinked, her brows knitting with confusion. She sank her head down onto her arms, running her fingers deep into her knotted blonde locks.   
  
"Great show tonight Callistaa!" howled someone as the staggered past and patted her roughly on the back. Amongst their hollering, they didn't hear the soft sob that fell from her.   
  
The car sped down the freeway, the one elegant hand at the wheel steering stiffly. In the other hand a cell phone was thumbed at as it glowed in the dark. The blonde at the wheel held the phone to her ear, taking the other hand back to the steering wheel.   
  
"Denise? Hi, yep. No he wasn't home. Looking for Zena. Look I'm going to go talk to Daddy, see if he knows any more about this Purgatory deal and stuff. Yep. Really? Cool! Yeah what a dog. Yep! Seeya!"   
  
She thumbed off the phone, dropping it in the passenger seat, frowing at the turn off sign ahead.   
  
"Shit," she sighed, "Nearly missed it."   
  
With a quick swerve she headed down the highway.   
  
The family home wasn't too far off the turn-off. The sizeable house, trimmed with white pillars and stately palisades, loomed lightly in the darkened distance, punctuated with the glow of old yellow garden lights. As she entered the gate out the front, she spared a wave to the security guard, driving faster as she entered the estate. Screeching to a halt at the front door she jumped out, running up the needlessly numerous steps. The door swung open, a maid looking incredibly distressed.   
  
"Miss Aphrodite!" the lady gasped in a strong hispanic accent, "Why you drive so crazy?!"   
  
"Sorry Carla," she said soothingly, patting the woman's shoulder, "Gotta talk to my Papa-"   
  
As she said that, the looming man stood at the base of large marble stairs that wound up to the rest of the house, rooms to the sides being fitted with gleaming statues of Gods and Goddesses of Ancient Rome and Greece. Aphrodite frowned at the man in the deep purple nightgown over a set of black pyjamas.   
  
"Aphrodite," he said, his voice crisp and well spoken, "I assume you have a reason for hurtling yourself down our driveway like a madwoman?"   
  
She nodded, tucking a short lock of her hair behind her ear, "Yeah Daddy - I mean yes - yes Father."   
  
He rose a heavy brow, "Well?"   
  
"Dad - what's going on with Ares? I mean really... this whole Purgatory stuff. Why does he have that looming over his head and we don't?"   
  
The man sighed, rubbing the flesh of the bridge of his nose tiredly, "Aphrodite, it's really something you shouldn't intrude into-"   
  
"He's my brother and I love him!" she said, "Therefore I'm not intruding at all!"   
  
The man dropped a hand at his side, shaking his head, "Come on dear," he said, holding out his hand, "Come into the library - I'll show you something."   
  
He led her up the stairway, their footsteps echoing off the walls of the elegant manor. The theme of white gleaming marble and blood-red drapes was all through the corridors of the estate, a blatant expression of what they were, of thier true nature that belied them. She followed him into his wood-panelled library, walls to the brim with bookshelves filled with old leather bound volumes of deep maroon and green, blue and tawny brown. On one bookcase hundreds upon hundreds of scrolls were shelved away in neat rows, encased in clear containers and labelled underneath with little stickers. Aphrodite eyed them warily, knowing her father's rule of nobody reading them but their three Great Aunts; Clara, Agatha and Lauren. What was so special about those weirdo's, Aphrodite long forgot. Immortality was like that, you remembered less and less as time got on and forgot more than you realised. It took long hours of pondering to actually remember things from that time. She treasured her time as a Goddess, thusly she wrote much about it, saving it away before they were cast from the Realm of Olympus by the new God. She forgot much after that. It was painful, and remembering those things cost good memories, and she treasured those much more.   
  
"Sit down," muttered the handsome old man, motioning to a stained glossy leather divan. Dite nodded, taking a seat, watching her Father walk over the the scroll cases, pulling one out gingerly. He sat down next to her carefully, patting her hand gently. "Dear girl... you were always one of my favourite daughters. So bright and joyous. I loved having you around me always."   
  
Aphrodite rose a brow, "Really?"   
  
He nodded, "Yes. Athena was always so serious. Sometimes I needed a laugh."   
  
"Oh," Aphrodite shrugged, "Thanks I guess."   
  
"This - this thing with your brother," he said, shaking his head dourly, "It was a problem long before we ever fell from Olympus. He was a good child, a loving and passionate son, but War tainted him far beyond even I imagined."   
  
Aphrodite felt her heart sink a little, "I - I forgot he didn't always use to be a WarGod."   
  
"Yes," he nodded, "He was a boy, no idea of his future. Of course even then he was a little shit at times, I'll never forgive him for widdling on my Olympian Grape Vines and killing them all."   
  
A giggle fell from the blonde woman, clasping an elegant hand to her mouth, "Oh my GOD! I remember that!! HEEhehe! Up until then we thought *nothing* could destroy that thing!"   
  
The man smiled, nodding, sadness growing in his eyes.   
  
"Jésus darling - who was at the-"   
  
The door opened at the echoing voice, the tall regal visage of Hera filling the doorway.   
  
"Oh... Aphrodite dear," she floated over in a long gown, kissing her daughter on the cheek, "Everything okay?"   
  
'Jésus' looked to her with dark eyes, a smile on his face clearly for show, "I'll speak to you about it later darling."   
  
Hera nodded, patting her daughter on the cheek before turning to the door, her ice blue eyes sparkling, "I'll be baking cookies in the kitchen."   
  
A chill ran through Aphrodite as she watched her mother go, "Baking cookies? At a time like this?"   
  
"She likes it," said Jésus, "She's always liked it."   
  
Aphrodite shook her head roughly, trying to clear her thought, "Dad - back to Ares."   
  
"Yes," he nodded, opening the glass canister, "When we were cast to immortality, it was under the premise that eventually we would improve ourselves to the point where we could rise up back to God, to reunite ourselves with the great energy. Avatars always have a limited time as vision of worship, and we were included. We ascend the spiritual planes till we had dealt with our own mistakes, our own misgivings, in which we made other people suffer for. As a punishment for that cruel behaviour, we were all under the Time of Purgatory, when we were given time to improve ourselves, and until that improvement was made, we would always have the threat of being cast to Purgatory."   
  
Aphrodite choked, "What - we ALL WERE?"   
  
Zeus nodded, "All of us."   
  
"Oh my God," Aphrodite gasped, "That's bullshit!"   
  
Zeus shrugged a shoulder.   
  
"So like, we aren't anymore?"   
  
"Most of you were well-behaved enough and good enough to have improved yourselves past that point. Even Discord and Strife learnt a few lessons in that time that made them better people," Zeus sighed, "You know Ares wasn't always the most well behaved of us-"   
  
"Yeah but he'd been doing the WarGod thing for years and years! Millenia!" Aphrodite complained suddenly, "It was his JOB to make wars happen and stuff! And suddenly stopping? He needed time to get used to being a good guy again."   
  
He nodded, "You are right. He was preordained to that role, and as such was doomed to a life of darkness and death. However his life as an immortal following his sacrifice of Godhood is what God is judging, through his eyes and ears and voice."   
  
"Clara, Agatha and Lauren," finished Aphrodite.   
  
"Precisely," nodded Zeus.   
  
Aphrodite fell a growing well of worry inside her. Those three nutsos? Judging Ar? This was sounding worse and worse by the minute, "Well - what do they say? Have you gone to see them lately?"   
  
"I saw them this month previous," he said, rolling up the scroll and slipping it back into the canister, "They say he has until the next cosmic flux."  
  
The ex-Goddess winced, "That sounds rude."   
  
Zeus gave her a flat look and sighed, "The next cosmic flux is the next moment of flux in the flow of energy in the cosmos, namely-"   
  
"Full moon!" growled Aphrodite, "Daddy! That's only two days away!"   
  
Jésus shrugged, getting up slowly to slip the canister back to it's cavity in the wall.   
  
"But-" Aphrodite jumped up, stomping over to him, "He doesn't even know! How is he supposed to improve himself if-"   
  
"That's the POINT Aphrodite," Zeus interrupted, his firm voice booming around the room. He softened it, sighing long, "My dear, this isn't something you can help. Please... just accept it."   
  
"No!" cried the blonde woman, "Dammit Daddy! He's been trying for the past few thousand years - is it his fault if he's been bummed about a chick he lost? Cause that's his problem - he's been jonesing for Xena all that time. And don't tell me you never fell for a mortal chick!"   
  
"I have," Zeus said, "And like a proper God, I got over it."   
  
"PFfft!" Aphrodite flapped her arms angrily, "What a load of bullshit."   
  
His heavy brows descended, "Aphrodite..."   
  
"No, I'm out of here," she said, storming to the door, "Maybe Mom might have her wits about her."   
  
She slammed the door behind her, knowing that her father wasn't the kind of man to go chasing after her to calm her down. King of Inaction, she liked to call him. All he cared about was the big stuff. Things that affected the rest of the world. The life of his son was rather inconsequential in the scheme of things apparently.   
  
"Mooom!"   
  
The swinging door of the kitchen was up ahead, and she slapped it open, her open-ended heel-less shoes flapping lightly on the tile floor.   
  
"Mom?"   
  
Hera turned from a bowl of batter, a smile brightening her high-boned features, "Aphrodite, how are you sweety?"   
  
Aphrodite frowned, her eyes flashing in desperation, "Daddy's a useless prick!"   
  
Hera blinked and shook her head slowly, "Now now, darling. He has his reasons for everything."   
  
"He's gonna let Ares be cast to Purgatory! Not even warn him about what's coming!"   
  
"It isn't his choice alone," she said, turning back to the batter in front of her, "Perhaps a few thousand years in torment will do the boy some good."   
  
"WHAT?" Aphrodite exclaimed, "God - you guys are fucking crazy! This is Ares we're talking about here Mom. Your SON!"   
  
Hera's frame sank, and as she turned her head Aphrodite saw her eyes rimmed with the redness of unshed tears, "Dear, it isn't up to me. It's up to your Father and your Great Aunts as to how he is dealt with. You just have to accept it. I'm baking cookies."   
  
She turned back to the cookie bowl, attacking it with a wooden spoon as she poured in some flour. Aphrodite shook her head, trying not to stagger, and with a huff she ran from the kitchen, across the foyer of the mansion, her frantic flapping steps echoing through the cold marble building. Shapes of perfectly muscled bodies, elegant curls of marble tresses, the falling drapery of a time long gone flashed past her, and her heart seized in pain. Ashamed... she was so ashamed. How could she be a part of this, a part of a people who cared so little? The hot wet splash of tears shocked her from sombreness, an urgency pushing her out the door, into her car and onto the long smooth highway back to Arran's home.   
  
Moonlight was a funny thing. It was cool, yet it's light, however blue, nearly always warmed a scene. Never would it be so bright that it could hurt the eye, yet it's reflection of the rippling lake in front of her seemed as bright and crisp as daylight. She hugged her jacket to her, watching the ripples play and dance with the moonlight, creating brilliant shapes in the water and create a glip-glopping song of water against earth. A small stream that ran from man-made lake to man-made lake trickled and sang along with it, it's tune far more spritely.   
  
The only other sounds she could hear was the conversation of crickets hiding in the grass around her, and the odd skitter of night animals travelling from tree to tree. Traffic hummed in the distance, whispering and hushing to the odd hooting call of revelers nearby.   
  
It was so very different. She didn't know how, she didn't know why. It just was. Slowly, like waking from a wonderful dream to an awful reality and not quite waking properly, she felt a complete disorientation. She wasn't sure if what she knew to be completely real was actually real or whether there was something else she was supposed to be, that she was supposed to remember. Flux - it was the only word she could use to describe her mental state. She sighed, thinking to Arran's reaction of that name... 'Callisto'. He was scared. The man was terrified, she could see it. He was so damned complex, and she knew now there was definitely more to him than she ever imagined. The very thought burned hot inside her, her heart swelling at the thought of him. Barely a day as his love and all she could think of was getting back to him and continuing that role. She snorted at herself. What had she become? Hankering for Arran of all people?! She hadn't known him before now, though, not like this. Something changed as she let down her guard. His eyes charmed her, his lips softened her resolve. The rumble of his deep tones proclaiming love had won her absolutely.   
  
She felt only partially conscious as a scuffle happened beside her, a hand grabbing her arm and something sharp contacting her throat.   
  
"Okay lady," husked the teenage voice, "Hand over whatever you got!"   
  
"Oh that ain't nice," She sighed, grabbing his hand and crushing the flesh between his thumb and palm. As she looked to him, she saw his dark eyes widen and water at the steel grip she had on his flesh. Rising to meet him she pushed him back, whirled him about and kicked him in the backside, the boy rushing headlong into the lake from the momentum. He cried out helplessly as he fell into the cold chilly water, the splash causing even more intricate and delightful patterns with the moonlight.   
  
"Oh, you made a big mistake!" hollered the young man, staggering out of the water, rushing her headlong as he brandished his pocket-knife.   
  
Zena eyed the glint of the blade in the moonlight. The world cracked, stopped, flashed. Her heart thumped wildly, her hands shuddering.   
  
"AAAUGH!!!"   
  
The boy stopped, his eyes widening as he saw the woman's body arc up, tensing, falling backwards onto the grass as she writhed, clutching her head.   
  
"NO!" she sobbed, rolling over, crawling along the ground, "NO please!!"   
  
The boy slowed, stepping from foot to foor in a cocky swagger, "You - you think that's gonna stop me lady? I don't think so - hand over your fucking money before I spill your guts on the floor."   
  
Zena's eyes grew cold as she glared at the boy, teeth glinting as she grit them, "You better run, little boy, or you'll be very very sorry."   
  
The teen sauntered forward, waving the knife in front of her, "Sorry eh? What are you gonna do - pinch me again?"   
  
"I'll - AGH!" she staggered, holding her skull, pain cracking through it, "Oh I'll do a lot worse than that..."   
  
"Try me," the teen said, jutting his chin forward, "Go on!"   
  
He met her acid glare and paled a little. He'd never seen such a look in his life, and he stepped back as she advanced, fists clenched. She lifted one hand, her two forefingers pointing. It came as a frightening instinct when she jabbed at his neck, a terrible crack filling the night air. She heard a grunting in the darkness, and moving the boy into the moonlight, he saw the veins in his neck and head bulging grotesquely.   
  
"Oh - Uh," She pointed her fingers, jabbing again desperately, instantly creating a similar crack that threw the boy backwards. He scrawled along the ground, gathering up his knife, glaring at the woman in fear. "Get out of here," she breathed, pointing at him unsteadily.   
  
"I'm going!" he wailed, "Sheesus lady!!"   
  
Her eyes were wide, her body trembling as she watched the boy stagger to his feet, running for dear life out of the park. As she watched, a sliding of pain fell through her, seizing her and wracking her suddenly with another jolt. She arced again, rolled, trying to stop the barrage of memories that flooded her again, anyway she could. No. Gabrielle - oh Gabrielle - Joxer... no she didn't want to remember, she wanted to forget - too much it was too much pain. NO!!! She felt the air from the cool night rushing into her lungs, her body arcing back in rage as the weight of the lives of so many bore down on her bones. Her life, this life, so free. So free!! Why?! Why did she have this robbed? Oh she was so tired... so tired of the sadness. She didn't want to go back to that. Never again.. oh never again!   
  
"No," she shook her head, her body curling into a ball, "Oh God... Nooo."   
  
Her words ended in a sobbing whimper, her fingers sinking into her hair... she felt an isolation become her, the cool night becoming suddenly cold. 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight: The Song of the Warrior Princess   
  
  
  
  
  
He lay there, staring at the ceiling, the full volume of what had happened that night previous sinking in slowly. His heart wallowed about like a walrus on an iceberg, and feeling about as cold, the pain there biting into him relentlessly. He'd done it. Again. And this time, he had her on a clean slate, no wars no nothing. He'd pushed her away, but damn it all, he couldn't bear losing her. And now, he had done it, he'd lost her, again.   
  
Millenia... he actually waited for a broad for THOUSANDS of years. He sat here, in a bed, gazing at a white painted ceiling with a black tacky ceiling fan, without her. Five thousand fucking years and no woman beside him to show for it. Thousands of kids, no woman. No love. No real love. No love you say "Oh Mommy, I'm gonna marry her and name our first daughter after Gramma" love. It was "You better get out before the cleaning lady gets here, she freaks at naked women" love. He hated it, he'd had more than enough.   
  
That's it Ares, he thought, You're a fucking failure. The hot wet of a tear trailed down his eye, past the top of his cheek and into his ear, settling uncomfortably there. Never in his endless life did he feel so... alone. So achy. So hollow. He felt a shell, nothing. Not even a shell. A shell had structure, could exist alone. He felt like he could crumple at any minute.   
  
He sighed painfully, covering his face in his hands, rubbing away angrily and staying with the same dead quiet bedroom, the same aching soul. He rolled over, looking at the bed-clock. Eight a.m. in the morning. What in all the Gods' names was he doing up at this hour? On a Sunday?   
  
Of course. The phone had rung, but he couldn't find the phone. He'd thrown it around the place after Zena had stormed out. Oh, pain - ow. Again. He rolled off the bed, onto the floor, looking under the bed. Oh man... black lacy underwear... Zena's fifty dollar broken lacy underwear. He pulled it out, clutching it like a lifeline, frowning at it's silky texture. Oh ... fuck. He felt tears cascading down his cheeks. Oh you great pansy, he chided himself, blubbering like a baby over a woman. Another voice joined in... Five thousand years man!! FIVE thousand!   
  
He dropped the panties on his bed, spotting the phone discarded in the corner, the shiny black of it poking out from under some pleather pants. Shiny and black of course... no wonder he'd missed it. He picked it up, stumbling to the phone to put it on the hook.   
  
BRRT!   
  
He clutched the phone, nearly jumping in fright but thankfully restraining himself. He pulled it to his ear.   
  
"Yeah."   
  
"Arran," the female voice down the phone sounded deeply concerned, "Gods. Joxer and me have been looking for Zena all night - have you seen her?"   
  
He frowned, his heart stopping, "You mean - she's not at home?"   
  
There was a brief silence, "Is there a reason Zena would be at home?"   
  
"No," Arran shook his head, rubbing grogginess from his mind, "No no, it's just - " he sighed, "She walked out of here last night, she didn't tell me where she was going."   
  
"Well," He heard the soft swearing of Gabrielle down the phone, "Shit, Arran! Didn't you think to stop her?"   
  
"It's Zena," he said, "She can flatten me under 30 seconds."   
  
"Grrrr!" Gabrielle's voice shuddered down the phone, "You didn't even TRY?"   
  
He went quiet, "I didn't want her to see me um.. crying."   
  
"Oh..." Another spot of quietness fell, till Gabrielle gave a decisive huff, "Well we're coming over - checking that park you guys train at sometimes. Stay there!"   
  
Oh great. Girlfriend missing and she wants him to stay put. "Gabrielle, Zena is missing and you expect me to sit around and twiddle my thumbs?!"   
  
The girl gave an impatient sigh, "She might just come BACK to your place."   
  
"Good point."   
  
"Right," Gabrielle agreed, "Look we really gotta go and find Zena. Seeya, and don't GO anywhere!"   
  
Before he could protest the sound of the phone receiver being hung up clicked irritatingly in his ear. He frowned at the phone. His heart plummetted as he gathered his thoughts together. Oh God... maybe someone tried to hurt her last night or, someone caught her off guard cause she was angry or upset. Then it'd be his fault. And anything could have happened... Zena's the most beautiful woman on the earth, they'd surely try to take advantage of her and... he gripped the receiver in his hand, and looking down he noticed he'd been pacing like a mad-man. Okay, Ar, okay, get a grip man. He sighed, pressing the phone receiver to his forehead in thought. Where is she... Gabrielle said the park. Brilliant little button. Of course the park. Maybe - what would she be doing there now? Last night maybe but...   
  
Why the hell were they worrying so much? Maybe she was at the local 24/7 grabbing a few buckets of icecream or something... or maybe... Maybe Zena had figured it out. Angry warlord woman in 21st Century Los Angeles. Ho crap. Crap crap. Arran thumbed at the handset he held, his eyes ringing in tight anxiety.   
  
"Hey - Dite. It's not too early. I don't care how much sleep you missed out on cause a' me. Zena's missing. Right. Not at home. No I already thought of that. She prefers yogurt anyway. Listen - you know the park near my place? Can you check that for me? Please? I know it's a drive. Well I wanna be here if she comes back. Yeah she walked out. Well she was angry I didn't - I already talked to the annoying blonde about this I don't wanna talk to another one about it AGAIN okay? I don't know WHY I let her go, I froze! Just get in your damned CAR!! Now would be a good time... THANK you!" He slammed down the phone, shaking his head, "Fucking woman."   
  
He sighed, turning to his kitchen to make a strong coffee.   
  
The lake was the same as it was the night before, the light dancing on it's surface now brighter and golden. The exact same lake seemed to glow with a euphoric glee that it was a bright summer morning, forgetting that only the night before it wallowed in the sombre dark hues of night. It's joy of the new day reflected in the slate-blue pools of her eyes, where tears had streamed but now dried up to leave an exhausted soul.   
  
It had taken a while... not too long, considering how long ago it had been... but rushing and cramming her mind were the details she wished she never knew. Each emotion, each agony. Each joy and elation, each tear and wrench. Each flush of affection, each broken peice of dejection. Her life of destiny that made her a brazen warrior left her fighting to be upright on the park bench, fighting to shrug of the desolation she felt. Reality kept washing in on her however, and the daunting truth remained. She had been a killer. It ate at her, guilt built up in her, tainting her far beyond she could cope with. The hanging weight filled her, tinting everything inside her with a dull depression. Most of the night she remembered crying. Heaven. Her life had been heaven before this... she never knew. A long sob fell from her again, a hand wiping away tears. Why... why did it have to turn out like this? And of all the things to feel when waking up to - yes waking - to this truth... love! For another killer! Worse than her! A cruel, viscious... oh no she couldn't - she couldn't think that it hurt. It hurt so much.   
  
"There she is!"   
  
She looked up as the voice floated past her, double glancing at the vision she saw. She felt herself standing, her heart rising at a giddy speed.   
  
"Gab!" she breathed, stepping forward, a light smile brightening her face.   
  
The writer ran through the park, her long honey-red hair whipping behind her in whispy swirls as she hugged a dark brown woollen jacket to her body, hand in hand with a tall lanky fellow she knew too well. Her face was a vision of worry, a flash of a smile reassuring the woman as they grew close. The two slowed down, their breaths filling the silence as the panted.   
  
"Gabrielle..."   
  
Her lips moved around the word slowly, making sure she didn't disappear from in front of her. She stepped forward, her brows tilting up, heart aching at the sight of the woman. Her eyes burned as tears welled, her hand reaching out to her friend's face. Gabrielle's eyes danced with affection, a deep knowing within them.   
  
"I-" She stopped, a sob taking her, "I remember... I remember it-Oh God I missed you!" She pulled Gabrielle in, hugging her tightly, tears spilling down her face. She barely settled at the woman when she leapt to the man next to her, hugging him just as tight. "Joxer!"   
  
"Xena," he smiled, "Hey..." The man patted her on the back, his smiles as riddled with relieved tears as hers.   
  
"Oh God," she leant back, cradling his face in her hands and squishing it, "Oh you little - Gods! I missed you so much I missed you both!" She pulled them both to her again, hearing their joyful sobs, the warmth of their bodies together filling the void that had taken her.   
  
"I missed you too," mumbled Joxer, a soft neediness in his voice, "I hated pretending to just have met you."   
  
"Me too," Gabrielle said to Zena, "I mean - pretending that I just met Joxer in front of you."   
  
Zena felt a laugh take her, rubbing at her nose, "Gods... now I know - now I know why you screwed him on the first night!"   
  
Joxer blinked to Gabrielle, "You told her about that?"   
  
Gabrielle snorted, "Duh."   
  
Xena laughed again, her hands constantly caressing the faces of her best friends, "You guys... Oh I'm so glad... so glad to see you..."   
  
Gabrielle smiled, a sadness in her teary eyes, "Are you okay? You looked -"   
  
Xena sighed, interrupting her, shaking her head as she gazed at the lake. Despite the warm double embrace of her family the pain from the night returned to her. She swore to herself as tears spilled down her face... damn... being a damn fool in front of-   
  
"Oh Gab," she sighed, shaking her head at the lake, feeling the arms of her friends wind around her, "I was a monster."   
  
Joxer tightened his arm around Xena's shoulder, hugging her, "No! You weren't!"   
  
"He's right," Gabrielle said steadily, "You were not a monster!"   
  
"I was," she sobbed, rubbing at the itch of tears, "I killed innocent people, I killed not innocent people. I seduced, I took advantage of people-"   
  
"You saved people," Gabrielle said, "You saved me! You saved Joxer. You brightened peoples lives. You were amazing, Xena. Absolutely amazing."   
  
"Well, you know... You were a hero," said Joxer.   
  
Xena glanced to Joxer as the words fell from his mouth, tears filling her eyes. "I don't deserve this life, Joxer."   
  
Gabrielle sighed, "Don't you think God or whoever should be the judge of that? I mean it's been long enough!"   
  
Xena shrugged, content between Gabrielle and Joxer, woven in their hugging arms in the bright summer morning. Her memories, so haunting and vivid, reached out for her spirit she wanted to be free, and again they sucked her down into her aching journey for redemption.   
  
"I just - I can't do this. Not in good conscience... Live this life."   
  
Gabrielle turned Xena's face to hers, meeting her gaze, "Xena... you deserve it. After the life we had - you deserve it so much."   
  
An odd thought fell through Xena's mind. "How long did you know?"   
  
Gabrielle frowned, "What?"   
  
"How long," Xena repeated, "Did you know that you were, and I was - you know - us. How long?"   
  
Gabrielle blinked, looking to Joxer, her voice rough as she spoke, "Since yesterday."   
  
Xena felt herself grow pale, "You let me go out with Ares when you - you knew?"   
  
Gabrielle held her face in her hands, shaking her head, "I didn't know Xena, I didn't know if it was even my business! I mean Christ! You couldn't even make up your mind if you liked him or not back in Greece! How the fuck am I supposed to know?!"   
  
"Well I hit him every time I saw him! Didn't that give you a clue?!"   
  
Joxer winced, raising his hands and stepping forward, "Guys..."   
  
"Now you're blaming me?!" she cried, "Oh God, this is the BC all over again."   
  
"I mean, you didn't have to stop me, just TELL me, ya know?"   
  
Anger had spilled through Xena. The very thought of Gabrielle knowing, and not saying... it sickened her. And the realisation that she'd actually had sex with him the night before last... and the previous morning... afternoon... A hot flush of arousal ran through her from the memory, mingled with the sickening lurches of disgust... oh GODS!   
  
"Guys-" Joxer stepped forward further, grabbing Gabrielle by her hooded coat and Xena by her black leather jacket and pulling them together, "This is not the way to reunite. You were crying and hugging each other not a minute ago..."   
  
Xena looked to Joxer gazing at them with wide brown eyes, the gentle and oddly handsome face endearing her again... oh that sweet idiot. She smiled a little through the sadness soaked in her featuers, pulling him to her in a hug. She yanked Gabrielle to her.   
  
"I'm sorry, I just-"   
  
Gabrielle sighed, nodding, "I know..."   
  
"I'm -" Xena swallowed, clenching her fists decisively, "I have to go see Ares, or Arran - or - whatever the fuck I'm calling him now."   
  
Gabrielle nodded. Xena smiled, leaning forward and kissing the girl on the forehead firmly.   
  
"I love you, Gabrielle."   
  
A smile splashed on Gabrielle's features, "You too, Xena."   
  
Xena smiled a brave smile to Joxer, "You too dopey." She gripped his hand, and with a skip and a turn she started off through the park. She hardened her heart as she approached the familiar flats. She had to when she saw Ares, she couldn't let his eyes, or his lips, or his voice, sway her. She had to be true to herself, finally. She had to be strong. She remembered all too well what he was capable of. What he used to be. This wasn't going to happen, not like this.   
  
Gabrielle held onto Joxer as they watched Xena race across the park, hair twisting and flapping in the breeze. She hid in his warmth, a feeling of worry soaking into her.   
  
"Joxer... do you think she's going to break up with him? Ares I mean?"   
  
Joxer sighed, shrugging, cuddling Gabrielle, "I don't know Gab. I mean... she probably will by the sounds of things."   
  
She nodded, kicking at the sod as she pouted, "I dunno... Arran doesn't seem that bad to me I mean... maybe he just looks like Ares and isn't Ares."   
  
Joxer's eyes fell to Gabrielle's and he tilted his head with a doubtful quirk of his lips, "Gabby - trust me, it's Ares all right."   
  
The bard sighed again, a sullen mope falling over her, "Crap. She was so happy with him, you could see it."   
  
"Yeah," Joxer nodded, "Doesn't seem fair, really. She finally has a nice life and we ruin it for her."   
  
"Gods," she said, "I feel so awful."   
  
"Yo, blondie!"   
  
Joxer blinked, turning with Gabrielle as they spotted a statuesque figure running to them across the park, breasts bouncing inside the small white t-shirt with a sparkling hot pink love heart across the front of it, jeans and white platform pumps completing the outfit. Gabrielle frowned, irritation in her eyes.   
  
"My name is Gabrielle," she said irately, then blinked, "Oh my - Aphrodite?!"   
  
The figure, now much closer, rolled her eyes and waggled her hands, "Hey yay, it's me."   
  
Gabrielle gave a snort of amused incomprehension, "Wow..."   
  
Aphrodite nodded, "Yeah it's wonderful. We can talk about this later - was that Xena I saw with you before?"   
  
Joxer frowned, his brown eyes twinkling guardedly, "Why you wanna know?"   
  
"Down boy," the woman said, "I wanna know for Ar, I've been looking for her all night."   
  
Gabrielle glanced to Joxer, patting his arm, "She's going to see him now."   
  
Aphrodite skewed a lip, pressing her finger to it in thought, "Maybe I can catch her or something..."   
  
Curiosity swept through the bard. The Greek Gods... still around... this was too much. "Why? I mean - are you still a Goddess? Are you all doing your thing or..."   
  
"God! I wish," laughed Aphrodite wryly, "Honey, we're just immortal. Avatars of the Big an' Mighty Powerful One, stuck here, but not pure enough for Heaven."   
  
She tilted her head, regarding Aphrodite, "So, no powers?"   
  
"Duh," Aphrodite rolled her eyes, "That's what immortal means - living forever. Doesn't include powers that I know of."   
  
"Your sense of humour hasn't changed," mumbled Joxer. He cowered as the blonde ex-Goddess glared at him.   
  
"Look, this is really fun but I have to catch Xena-"   
  
"Why?" Gabrielle said, "You haven't told me yet."   
  
"God!" Aphrodite stomped the ground in a childish expression of frustration, staggering a little as she lost her balance because of her outburst, "Gah! Damn- shoes!" She glanced up to the two lovers and scowled, "Xena will probably dump Ares now she knows who she is. This is just bad!" She turned around, beginning to trot off towards Arran's apartment building.   
  
"Wait!"   
  
Gabrielle ran up next to her, grabbing her arm, "So what?"   
  
"Huh?" Aphrodite glanced to Gabrielle as she kept running, "Whaddaya mean 'so what'?"   
  
"I mean - so what if she dumps him? Big deal!"   
  
Aphrodite rolled her eyes, "I forgot you were so clueless. Ares is like - on probation, kay? He only has a little time before he gets thrown from the physical plane into Purgatory for being a shithead, okay? I really have to go!"   
  
She sprang to a bolt, the ex-Goddess bouncing ridiculously across the feild of grass. Gabrielle slowed to a halt, shaking her head, Joxer skidding to a half next to her.   
  
"Should we stop her?"   
  
Gabrielle regarded the blonde woman running in the ridiculous shoes and sighed, "We'll - we'll go with her."   
  
Joxer sighed, "Okay."   
  
The door wasn't locked. She didn't bother knocking. Slowly, she eased open the door, the faint scent of his masculine cologne soaking her senses, the unique sound of the world in his apartment greeting her. The cars sounded a certain way from here. Far away, harmless. >From his abode, the clouds were closer. The view over the city was flighty. The world sprawled out underneath her from there, distant and oblivious to anything but itself. Her eyes settled to the man she'd been looking for. For a moment, the sound of the door opening hadn't registered. She had a moment to look at him without any pretensions. His hair was in mussed tufts, his eyes a little dark underneath. A tight black t-shirt and black slack pants was all he wore and he leant on his folded hands, his brow creased and laden with worry. His eyes... she couldn't take in the brown luminence of the orbs, such heartbreaking sadness she saw there. The very vision of him screamed isolation and fear. How could she have not sense that earlier?   
  
This moment only lasted as such, the man blinking as the sound of the door reached him inside his shell. He straightened slowly, his eyes glistening as he stood to meet her.   
  
"Zena..."   
  
"No," she lifted a hand, "No don't - don't say anything for a minute..." Closing the door, she turned, her hands shaking. Damn... he was so beautiful. Why did he have to be so lovely to look at? She met his gaze only breifly, stepping over to his lounge suite, sitting down on the soft black italian leather. She could sense his anxiety, she could see the stiffness of it in his movements. In this life... this life she had with him, it stung her soul. Sparring partners? Friends? With him? She shuddered, shaking her head. "You knew... all that time?"   
  
As she glanced up, he nodded to her, large brown eyes filled with a vulnerable gleam.   
  
"You didn't think that maybe it was wrong? To do what you did - when you knew our past?"   
  
A breathy laugh fell from him as he buried his head in his hands, "I did-" He shrugged darkly, "It's just when the only woman you ever really loved is standing in front of you when you thought you'd lost her forever, I dunno," He flared his nostrils with a sad sarcasm, "You kinda forget about morals. To be honest I didn't even think it was really you in there... a descendant or something..."   
  
Xena nodded slowly, pressing her lips together, "Right."   
  
"When I figured out... when it became apparent that you were who you looked like I - I just. I just wanted to be near you."   
  
She sighed, looking away, battling tears that rimmed her eyes. What game was he trying to pull with her? Had he pretended to be mortal all that time? Whas what he was saying true? What did it matter? God or not, he had been the man he had been back in Greece. She double glanced back, rolling her lips, "Time - it doesn't change anything you know. I know who you were. Who you still are. I can't live with that. I can barely live with myself."   
  
His eyes fell shut, the luscious curls of his lashes touching his cheekbones, the smooth crystal of a tear spilling over it.   
  
"Well?" She prodded, running her hands over her knees, "You're not going to say anything? Threaten me or..."   
  
Ares opened his eyes, glancing to her, "It's been a very long time Xena," he said, "Longer than you could possibly realise. Do you remember any of your other lives?"   
  
Xena narrowed her eyes a second, then shook her head, "No. I don't."   
  
"So it's like falling asleep," he said, "And waking up after a particularly incredible dream that ends up being reality."   
  
She nodded this time, battling the uncertainty the steady timbre of his voice was creating within her. "That's exactly what it's like."   
  
"Then you don't know, don't realise how long it's been. How dead an existence has been without you... not knowing love, knowing real..." He shook his head, a disturbed shudder taking him, "It's a very very long time, longer than you know, the time you've been gone. Civilizations have risen and died before the eyes of me and my family. I've had thousands of wives, children. I gave up the game of trying to live a life millenia ago. Life's just no fun without you there to keep me in line. You know, there's a reason you've been brought back, though I don't know what it is. All I know is that of all the things in my life that ever made me feel worth something more than... than trash, it was how you made me feel when you weren't hitting me, and you weren't angry with me. Remember - remember Sysiphis' little island? Remember?"   
  
Her heart tremored - she didn't want to remember. She nodded fractionally, watching him speak, his lips moving tenderly. For the briefest of moments, her hands were the smaller fine-nailed mani of her multi-incarntational advesary, Callisto. She remembered the sensation of those hands skimming over his hot satin skin, his large doe eyes gazing to her with that same need, same vulnerability. It always disarmed her... not now. He continued, fiddling with his fingers.   
  
"First time I ever felt like... I don't know. Worth something. And when I didn't have you, all I had was War. And when that was taken away, I didn't even have much of a family. Just... myself. And alone. Thousands of years wandering around alone, knowing I could never feel what I felt with you again, cause it was unique. That was something I always knew. I lived all that time thinking I wouldn't know the fire we had, something so rare."   
  
She felt a painful lump catch her throat, "Don't..."   
  
He looked to her.   
  
"Don't do this..."   
  
He frowned, "Don't do what?"   
  
A hot sigh fell from her, "I don't, I don't know. I'm so confused. I have two sets of experiences with you, and they don't add up at all. One the one hand I have a pitiful wreck of a human being, on the other hand a murderous jerk, and then you start with this shit-"   
  
He grit his teeth, his jaw muscles bulging, "I'm not shitting you," he said, "For once in my Goddamned life I'm being honest. Isn't that what you always wanted?"   
  
She closed her eyes, feeling the tulmut of nerves ringing crazy inside her. God, he always did this to her. She knew it would happen again, and no matter how she tried to steel herself against it, she felt her joints weaken, her body quiver like a frightened baby. She could feel him all around her, in the air, in the sounds... he was breathing so shallow with fear. It all burned at her.   
  
"I don't know what I wanted from you!" she cried, struggling for some sense of control in the emotions that drowned her, "But now I remember who you were-"   
  
A rough grunt left him as he thrust himself to his bare feet, pacing a moment as he ran tense fingers through his hair.   
  
"I've been living with who I WAS for five thousand years Xena!" he said, his voice a growl, "I'm so tired of being beaten for being what nobody else wanted to be. This world needed, needs and will always NEED conflict! And for a little while, Man needed someone to govern it. I took that role, Xena. I chose it, cause somebody HAD to do it."   
  
She growled back at him, jumping to her feet, "And you ENJOYED IT!"   
  
"Of COURSE I did!" he shouted back, "What other choice did I have?! I'd a been a miserable prick if I didn't learn to like it! And only I understood the PURPOSE of what I was doing - don't you SEE that?!"   
  
She narrowed her eyes at him, "I see pain I see-"   
  
"That's so old Xena," he said darkly, "You sound like a fucking stuck record."   
  
"This is exACTly why I am ending this now! You don't having the faintest inkling of what you put people thr-"   
  
He laughed suddenly, a sad tortured laugh as he shook his head, "You think I don't know what I did? That I haven't learnt the pain I caused through living as a man on the earth? I know what I did. It cost me you, Xena. I was a fucking idiot for letting my ego get in the way of getting close to you."   
  
"You're just saying this," she muttered, her anger slowly dwindling at Ares' words.   
  
"Maybe I am," he said, "Up to you to decide."   
  
"You're still a cruel person," she said, digging for straws, "You sleep with lots of women, you're arrogant-"   
  
"Arrogance is a crime now?" he rose a brow, "Wow, first I heard of it."   
  
"I know you better than you think," she finished with a forceful tone.   
  
He shook his head, a silence falling after all the shouting like a suffocating shroud. He lifted his eyes, his words hitting her like a bullet. "I used to believe that."   
  
She almost staggered at their impact. How could he... how could he say that? Closeness, yes she'd felt so close to him, like she knew him so completely, that to be with him was instinctual. She remembered all those days at the dojo, their spars more like elaborate dances, perfectly choreographed, their bodies moving and their mind meeting in the language of thrust, jab, lunge and roll. And now he closed himself off, he denied her something she knew as given since she picked up a sword. She KNEW him!   
  
Clenching her hand to a fist she turned, pacing to the door.   
  
"Whether you believe me or not," he said suddenly, "I lived all that time, waiting for you."   
  
She glanced back, the tears she battled blurring her vision, "You shouldn't have bothered."   
  
She turned, striding out the door before he could answer her. That was the way to go. Always the way to leave him. If she stayed, he would look at her with those eyes, and again she'd fall liked a useless doll. Her stomach lurched, the tears blurring her vision now spilling down her face. A resounding ache rolled through her, knocking her soul, devastated cracks ripping through her. She forced herself to breath calmly, lips tense. She wasn't sad, she was fine, Oh God she had to be fine with this. She was the Warrior Princess. She'd been alone before. She'd fought. Oh God how she missed that time, the strident independent days of the insinctual, the primal. The basics. She ran down the stairwell of the apartments, her soft sobs echoing off the walls of the concrete walls around her. When did things get complicated? When did she become this soft-hearted thing that she was now? Or was she always there, always wanting to exist and never having the opportunity?   
  
She shoved the thought from her head as her feet met the bitumen of the apartment car-park. She ran, ran to her car, fumbling with the keys in her pocket. Silently she missed Argo, somehow knowing that she was the stupid yellow labrador in her flat waiting for her to come home. The engine complained as she started it abruptly from it's sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his. His lips, the whisp of the curl of his hair, the short trimmed goatee he'd kept all that time. His hands, his voice. They were burned into her mind, right to the deepest recesses of her soul. She stifled a sob, revving the car onto the road. Whiskey, she needed whiskey.   
  
She drove almost subconsciously, tears stealing their way down her face when she wasn't ready to combat them, a sob disguising itself as a cough every now and again. Frostbites loomed up ahead, and even though it screamed of him, of her life with him, she felt drawn to it, reassured by the fact that he was probably moping in his apartment right now.   
  
Inside it was in it's regular café-by-day mode, soft funky jazz being pumped through the speakers that was bastardized by the odd stumble of dance-beat tampering. She slid to the bar, tapping it darkly.   
  
"Hey Zena," the woman there said, "Arran may know your little signals and what you like to drink but I don't." She smiled, wiping her hands on her apron, "So what would you like?"   
  
Xena glared at her, "Whiskey."   
  
The woman frowned, brushing a lock of hair from her face, "Isn't it a little early in the day for that?"   
  
She sighed long, rubbing her eyes, "I just - want a whiskey, okay? Straight, no ice, just whiskey."   
  
"Okay..." the woman said, sing-song, "Don't blame me if you feel terrible later on."   
  
"I won't," Xena growled.   
  
The bar-woman was quiet a moment, until she glanced up and smiled brightly to Xena.   
  
"I heard you and Arran got together! 'Bout time, I say."   
  
Xena twitched the corner of her mouth in the nearest approximation to a smile as she could muster. The woman slid the whiskey to her.   
  
"That'll be four-fifty."   
  
Xena pulled out he purse, riffling through the notes. Pulling one out she handed it to her, glowering with some disatisfaction. She hated talking about him.   
  
"Well, say hi to Ar for me if you see him!" said the woman in a chipper tone, waving as she strode to the other end of the bar.   
  
Xena looked down to the whiskey, thoroughly despising the sensation of her heart beating noisily against her ribcage in painful strokes.   
  
"Sucks doesn't it?"   
  
The words, dark and wistful, broke Xena's involvement in her own torment, and she glanced around her. The shape at the end of the bar looked up at her, and she felt a chill run through her. Blonde straggled locks hung around the face that hung long, the eyes dark pools of something Xena didn't want to deal with.   
  
"Callist-a," she muttered, not wanting to associate what she saw with the vicious woman she'd known so long ago, "You okay?"   
  
A soft chuckle fell from the woman at the other end of the bar, "Well let's see... I just last night remembered that my family were burnt to a crisp in a shitty mudhole in Greece. I remember it, like yesterday."   
  
Xena frowned, tears spilling over her cheeks, "Oh Callista..."   
  
A tight sob left the other woman like a laugh. Xena ventured forward, sliding her drink with her, her movements cautious.   
  
"Do you remember doing it Xena? Do you even realise you were in Greece? Thousands of years ago?" Her eyes held a cruel derision, one Xena never remembered seeing in this incarnation of her.   
  
"I do," Xena said evenly, "I wish I didn't."   
  
"Ha," she snorted, "Right."   
  
"You have a family now right?"   
  
Callista nodded, "In Cleveland."   
  
Xena sighed with relief, smiling a little, "Well - they're alive and well now... feel good in that-"   
  
"It doesn't erase the memories Xena," she bleated through tears. Her voice dropped suddenly, her eyes poisonous, "Doesn't change what happened."   
  
Xena felt a chill run through her, the words almost an echo as she saw his eyes flash in her mind, her voice uttering the same words... No, you can't think like that Xena!   
  
"I don't even get the satisfaction of telling you who you really are, watching the torment wash over you slowly. I can't-" The woman shook her head, tears reddening her cheeks, "Why am I fucked over relentlessly and you're given all the fucking blessings?"   
  
A twist in her lips caught her tears, and Xena held the sob as she lifted her tumbler to finish the drink, "I have as many blessings as you do, Callista. And as many damnations." She let the whiskey smash her mouth again, and she slid the glass away, turning from the wrecked woman next to her, "You'll be okay, Callista. If you try to redeem yourself."   
  
Callista glanced up at her, scathing in her dark eyes.   
  
The very look rocked Xena, and she turned, striding from the bar in something akin to fear. She had to get home, had to check on her dog, had to - had to live. Had to be Zena Wohlters. So she drove, down the highway, the buildings and sparse greenery of LA beating into her how far she was from lush Ancient Greece.   
  
As she entered the door to her apartment a mess of shaggy blondeness attacked her, licking and slobbering over her, sharp rough paws patting and pawing at her excitedly. She glanced into the rest of the tuscan-styled apartment, eyeing for damage from her over-excitable pet. Thankfully the puffy calico lounge with detailed throw was perfectly intact.   
  
"Agnes!" she gasped, finally paying some attention to the dog, "Naughty! Down girl down... I'm sorry, I'm sorry I didn't come home last night. Did Auntie Dotty feed you?"   
  
Xena strolled to her fridge, eye out for any messages. On the door, sure enough, was a post-it note.   
  
"Zena,   
  
I fed Agnes for you and took out the garbage. Girl, you need to keep regular hours if you want to keep your championship title!   
  
Love, Aunt Dorothy."   
  
"Well," she sighed, dropping her handbag on her dining table, "she is looking after me huh?"   
  
Agnes moaned, pushing her nose to Xena's hand. Xena sighed, patting the dog on the head.   
  
"I know, sweety, I won't go away like that again."   
  
A sharp rapping hit the door, and Xena nearly jumped, turning around, hand almost grasping for her sword, and slowly realising she didn't have one anymore. 'You don't wear the sword anymore...' The phrase flitted through her mind, chilling her. He had known. All along. 'You, beautiful princess... I waited years and years and years for you. Years and years and I never found you. Thought I never would.' She held her head in her hands, taking deep breaths, trying to calm herself. She strode to the door, emotional exhaustion feeling not too far away as her stomach sank inside her.   
  
"Xena..."   
  
Xena held open the door, relief washing over her at the sight of her best friends in the doorway. Joxer ushered Gabrielle in, his face drawn in concern.   
  
"Xena, are you okay?" he asked, "I mean - we met up with Dite - went to find you at Ar's apartment but you weren't there."   
  
"You must have missed me," she said, turning from the door, skulking to her lounge.   
  
Gabrielle winced sadly from next to Joxer in the walkway from the front door to the lounge, "You broke up with him, didn't you?"   
  
Xena glanced to her best friend, "Gabrielle - it's Ares! What do you think?!"   
  
Gabrielle shrugged with a sigh, "I don't know, you seemed kinda happy with him."   
  
She rolled her eyes, the aching beginnings of regret threatening to seize her. "No, I just didn't know any better."   
  
Joxer shuffled on his feet, and he looked to Xena, "Um, not that I'm not as into the current crisis as you guys but uh - I really gotta use the bathroom..."   
  
Xena pointed right, "Down the hall, second to the left."   
  
A smile broke through his desperation, "Thank you!"   
  
Gabrielle watched him disappear into the hallway, plodding over to her best friend. She sank down next to her, slipping an arm around her.   
  
"Hey."   
  
Xena let herself feel soothed in the woman's embrace, familiarity warming her more than she ever realised it could. "Hey."   
  
Gabrielle stroked dark tresses of hair from her friend's face on her shoulder, "You okay?"   
  
"I'll be okay," she said through a sigh, "I gotta say... one of the best things about this remembering thing is knowing Joxer again."   
  
A smile broke onto Gabrielle's face, "I know."   
  
"And the good memories of our little escapades," added Xena, weaving her fingers with Gabrielle's affectionately, "Makes our friendship even stronger than it was."   
  
"Yeah, I think so," Gabrielle said with a small smile, "It's weird though... having two lives to look back on, huh?"   
  
"Yeah," nodded Xena, "Really wierd. I don't know if I like it."   
  
Gabrielle patted Xena's shoulder gently as the woman slid her legs up, curling in a ball and nestling her face to her knees.   
  
There was the clunk of a door and a rush of water not far off, and soon, "Oh Gods that feels so much better!"   
  
Gabrielle couldn't help but grin, a little smile fighting it's way to Xena's lips.   
  
"You know, I still can't get over how talented he really is," Gabrielle said, a wonderous look in her eyes, "I mean, when he's on stage..."   
  
"I know," Xena nodded, "I saw the potential but I never thought he'd go through with it like this."   
  
A dreamy sigh fell from the bard, "Not just that, but he's changed a little. Just slightly, like - I dunno. I think he knows me better, if that's even possible. We're just so - connected. And he's really wise now. I don't think he used to be, I never stopped to find out. But he is now. Really wise in like, a spiritual way."   
  
A sad smile sat on Xena's face, still there as Joxer ambled into the room, babbling about how nice Xena's bathroom was.   
  
"Is that a spa?"   
  
Xena glanced up, "Yeah... yeah it is."   
  
Gabrielle was right... Joxer was different. Still silly, but somehow powerful in his movements, like he knew how to move and how to behave to make the most of himself. That and he finally wore glasses, which probably had a lot to do with why he was such a hopeless klutz in the BC. She looked to Gabrielle, a similar wonderment in her. The bard had changed too. The woman she'd known in this life had lacked the dangerous insecurities she'd sensed in her friend from so long ago. As if she were self assured in what kind of person she wanted to be this time around. They were changes that were imperceptable, invisible to one's self, things that were perfect plays of silence and subtlty.   
  
Guilt narrowed her eyes as her thoughts weighed down on her. No, she couldn't think of Ares now, his words, the sad solitary person he'd become, the way regret seemed to weigh down his movements. Damn it all - No Xena! She had to remember him for the scheming selfish bastard he had been, that he was capable of being now. The pot, the smoking, the beer, the women...   
  
A great spasm of anger and confusion washed through her. If she were to judge him on such things, she would be equally as guilty, having her fair share of the alcohol and the odd lover. She couldn't think of this though, she couldn't question it, it was done now. Walls silently grew inside her, and she sighed with a tentative new sense of security, her memories slipping into line the way she forced them to, the way they fitted with her archaic world view. Yes... she had made the right decision. 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine: Let Your Spirit Move Me   
  
  
  
The black leather-bound book sat in his bookshelf, an odd object of strange sentimental value. It was only 30 years ago that he thought to actually bother keeping a family album. As the modern era set itself up, as a civilization finally re-emerged after those hundreds of years of barbaric society, the stresses of survival diminished, so a home and a lifestyle was possible at last. He spent time with people for change, Aphrodite and Discord being his closest companions. Why Aphrodite chose to take him under her wing and not Hercules, he didn't know. If he remembered rightly, Herc was somewhere round LA too. Not that he particularly cared to think about him. So his family album was to the brim with photos of family gatherings, of dinners at resteraunts, of new years eve's backdropped with the sparkling effervesence of fireworks. How dim they were compared to the glory of Olympus they'd lost so long ago. How beautiful a ball of plasma he could create in his hand all that time ago was compared to the spatterings of burning magnesium. It wasn't any use moping over such things.   
  
He flipped the pages, moving to the last page. He remembered placing the newest photo in there just yesterday morning. Yes... Flipping to the last two pages, on one was a polaroid and the other empty. The polaroid's vivid colour captured him holding Xena in his arms, she was laughing, trying to escape the camera's eye. It could be seen they were falling over one another in their morning clothes of night-gowns and baggy shirts. He closed his eyes, his throat warming, a yawning opening up inside of him that only seemed to be filled with a gaunt despair. He glanced up, seeing a brown leather-bound book next to where the album was. He reached up, pulling it from it's place, letting it fall open in his lap.   
  
With a decided fervor, he flipped through it. He held open a page, old etchings depicting in a frail manner the great Gods of Olympus. Humans could never seem to capture the physical majesty of the Gods, their blessed perfection. Not that it mattered - to the world they were all but dead. Under one entry was the muscled proud visage of Ares, God of War. He held a sword and wore a pleated toga, a helmet on his brow. Where'd they get the idea he wore a helmet? Stupid Roman times. His eyes fell to the words underneath the picture, knowing the ache he'd feel, relentlessly reading ahead...   
  
'Ares, the son of Zeus and Hera, was the Greek God of war, and was later identified with the Roman war god MARS. Although Ares had no wife of his own, he had three children by other Goddesses. The twins, Phobos "Panic" and Deimos "Fear", always accompanied him on the battlefield. In Greek mythology, Ares is depicted as an instigator of violence, a tempestuous and passionate lover and an unscrupulous friend. The Roman god Mars, however, has nothing of Ares' fickleness.'   
  
The words were black, immovable. The paper they were printed on was old, and this had been printed thousands of times, upon millions in other books. To the name Ares went anger, hatred, fear and derision from now until the end of humanity. He had done it. Himself. The weight that seemed would never be removed from his shoulder bore down upon him, for yet another time growing heavier, self hatred welling within him. Guilt... such guilt he felt. When would he stop feeling it? When would it end? A rough sigh left him as he turned the page, trying not only to forget those times, but forget the disease he became to society as he was cast from Godhood along with the other Gods of Olympus. Hate... such hate directed towards him. They knew who he had been, what he'd done. Presumptuous humans casting him out of even their fold. They knew nothing of what he sacrificed, what he gave up for their benefit. He fingered the pages of the book in his lap that seemd to waft a musty fragrance as he opened a section that hadn't been leafed through in a fit of moody discontent in some time... 'Heroes of Ancient Greece'.   
  
He flicked past the many heroes of the time, mostly men. It was near the end where her little drawing was. He'd almost forgotten it was there.   
  
He leafed to the page, opening it tenderly. Xena.   
  
'Xena, daughter of Cyrene, named Warrior Princess and Destroyer of Nations. In myth is responsible for the downfall of the Gods of Olympus, famous for her ecclectic talents and her most lethal weapon from India, the chakram. Often said to have travelled with the bard Gabrielle of Potedaia after her miraculous conversion from her scurrilous ways due to the friendship of Hercules (see Heracles).'   
  
In the book was an etching on the browning paper, a short pleated toga on the woman, the chakram hanging on a rope belt, brass gauntlets on her knees, sword in her hand, a breast exposed. Ares sighed, shaking his head. Couldn't get it right. His heart lurched in surprise as a drop splashed the page... a tear? He blinked, awakening to the aching in the rims of his eyes, the growing tears that threatened to follow. He wiped the tear away on the page, the page smudging just a little. This caused a lurch in him also. He'd forgotten the book was so old that it was printed with such an ink... perhaps that blackness of the written word wasn't so immovable after all. He pinched his fingers at the edge of the paper, so delicately ripping at it, carefully peeling the entry from the book till it was clear of the page. He slid the thin deliate paper into the empty plastic sleeve of his family album next to the vibrant photo of himself and the once-Warrior Princess. The little drawing seemed lonely somehow. Taking to the book again, he ripped out the little entry of the God of War, and again, carefully slid it into the sleeve next to the photo. He struggled with the thin paper, sliding the drawings till they sat somewhat next to one another.   
  
He ran his hand over the page of images, a last fragment of a brief sweet moment that lifted his soul even only just, that 'just' being enough to warrant a smile from him. In that fleeting time he'd been forgiven, his heart was full and for once he'd felt like smiling. Like being goofy, like actually being a nice guy for once. The cosmos seemed to slam into him the fact that he was always to be denied this. Always the fall-guy of the heavens. That was he. A heavy sigh took him, and he slapped closed the album, striding into his room. Yanking open his closet, he pulled out a carry bag, grabbing shirts haphazardly and throwing them in. Worse than never seeing her and never having her, the pain of seeing her and never having her tore at him more than he'd ever known. He couldn't survive it, he wouldn't.   
  
Perhaps Las Vegas needed some barmen. 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: Not Ready for Goodbyes   
  
  
  
The air was thick, hot, typical of midday Los Angeles. Particularly typical of midday Los Angeles in a closed car. She should have been out of the car by now, up the stairs, into the flat. Unsaid things needed to be said, unreturned things needed to be returned. Strings tied off, snipped, and neatly disposed of. The sickening stench of hot carseat made her throat feel strange, and it was a good sign that the heat inside the car was to a point where it was no longer healthy for her. She hauled herself out of the seat, locking the car grudgingly. Have to get it over with, Xena, she told herself.   
  
She plodded up the stairs, into the lobby, traipsing over to the elevator.   
  
Two days. It had been two days since she'd walked out. She tried to remember what she'd been doing all that time. Tutoring kids in San Shou. Teaching self defense classes. A new determination had hit her as she taught young women to be stronger, empowered. For a time, she adored the 21st century. Then she felt like taking a swim and realised she only had the pool at the gym to go to, not a nice cold stream where she could nab some trout for dinner. Well... Two days. She'd successfully put off seeing him at all for two days, even talking to him. She kinda felt proud, like she could deal with it, deal with this, be good ol' self reliant Xena again. Gods - she had to fix her name up. The elevator slowed, the doors clanking open.   
  
Two days. Her mind, over and over, recited a cognitive mantra of independence and stability, pummelled by the hollow ache of loneliness, the cold of her side without Arran (Ares, dammit he was Ares) there to warm her. God damn him to hell, she missed training with him. She would have been training with him yesterday. Kicking his ass. She loved doing that. She loved the press of bodies, the film of sweat that touched her skin, the grunting of a struggle. The rush of triumph. Somehow, it wasn't so triumphant without him there.   
  
No no no, she growled to herself. Stop thinking like that! She kept remembering who he used to be, it all seemed to fall upon her and bounce right off her again, useless information she didn't want to know. But to ignore would be a disgrace to those lives he ruined.   
  
For a moment, the haunted eyes of Callisto froze her heart. She shut away the memory, trying to stop her hands from shaking. She didn't want to feel guilty, not in this life. Not a life where she'd done nothing. Oh damn... this was so complicated.   
  
She stopped her racing thoughts, realising she had been standing out the front of Arran's door for a good ten minutes. She stepped back, almost staggering, as the door burst open.   
  
"Oh my God!"   
  
Aphrodite jumped, clutching her chest with a hand that gripped a black gauzy hankerchief, "Geez, Xena, you scared me!"   
  
Xena frowned at the woman. She wore a black t-shirt and skirt, stockings, flat pumps. Glancing into the flat through it's open door she saw Discord sitting at Arran's couch, picking through a box, her make-up smudged. Her heart slowly seized, and she glared at Aphrodite.   
  
"What - what's going on... Where's Arran?"   
  
Aphrodite gripped the hanky, pressing it to her mouth, her eyes watering as she turned and stepped into the apartment, "Come on Xena... sit down."   
  
Confusion spilled through Xena, worry and disorientation joining it. This couldn't be...   
  
'Denise' glanced up from the couch, her voice rough, "Hey Xena."   
  
Aphrodite sat Xena down on the other side of the box, sitting on the ebony coffee table in front of it.   
  
"Where's Arran?" she growled, stretching her neck as she peered around her, "Ar! Get out here!"   
  
"He ain't coming out sugar-lumps," mumbled Denise darkly, "Ever."   
  
"What are you talking about?"   
  
"Denise," sighed Aphrodite, "Be gentle! Sheesh!"   
  
Xena's heart beat wildly in her chest as her mind raced about like a panic stricken hen, "Be gentle about what? What's going on?"   
  
Aphrodite caught a sob, her lips wrinkling as tears spilled down her face, "Arran is dead."   
  
Xena narrowed her eyes, a sharp smile taking her. She jumped up, striding to the kitchen, "Aww come on!" she cried out in a merry tone, "You're kidding me! Ar! Come out here - this isn't going to make me come back to you! Nice try!"   
  
The whimpering sob of Aphrodite stopped her, and turning, she saw the woman hunched over, shaking in a sob. Denise leant forward, rubbing the woman's back as if she was diseased, but her eyes showing real concern.   
  
"Good one," she spat, "You know how long it's taken me to stop her sobbin' like a hired wailer? He's dead, comprendé? Ares is gone!"   
  
"Wh- no way!" Xena shuffled on the spot, shaking her head, "No way!"   
  
"Way already!" the ex-Goddess sighed, going back to the box she was sorting through, "See most of his stuff is missing? It's in the van down-stairs. He died! Dead! Bye-Bye Birdie!"   
  
The words slammed her like speeding lorries, her head tingling with dizziness, her hands growing warm and quivering. She shook her head, racing over into his bedroom. The bed was immaculately set out, so different to the wrinkled pile of satin-sheeting it usually was, the smell of him in the room setting her bottom lip shuddering in disbelief. Striding to his closet she pulled it open, digging through franticly. Scared, so scared. This had to be bullshit, he couldn't be dead, he couldn't be. Hope burst through her as she jumped out of the closet.   
  
"His carry-bag is gone," she said, "And his shirts!"   
  
Denise rolled her eyes, Aphrodite sitting up, sniffling and patting at her chest.   
  
"Okay Xena, I know it's hard to accept, him being an ex-God and all, and immortal, but like... the Fates said that he only had till full moon to improve his soul and it looks like they meant it," The blonde stopped, her words squeeking out as she sobbed some more, blowing noisiling into her handkerchief.   
  
Xena frowned, "What Fates? The Fates are gone!"   
  
"No they're not," Denise wiped at her face sharply, "They're our crazy Aunts in the rubber-celled home eating sludge every day. They decide what happens to the cast out Gods."   
  
Xena felt her mind dislodging from her skull, staggering and whirling till she felt ill. The sobs that threatened hurt her throat, her eyes watering at the pain. "What happened?"   
  
"Ares was leaving LA," whimpered Aphrodite, wiping at her eyes, "And um... he'd reached quite a ways when boom! His car swerved off the road after it skidded on some loose gravel and hit a pole and - blew up! Police say he could have been swerving to miss an animal or something."   
  
She felt her head shaking slowly, "No... no no no..."   
  
"He was leaving because of you," mumbled Denise, "Just cause you're so fucking high and mighty and can't even accept him after he waited five fucking thousand years for you."   
  
Aphrodite glared at Discord, "That isn't cool, Denny!"   
  
"Like I fucking care!" hissed the girl, "I've been by his side all this time! He's the only person in the whole Pantheon that gave a fuck about me, and he's gone because of this insensitive bitch over here."   
  
"W-Wuh? No! It's not my fault!" Xena shook her head, waving a hand, her face expressionless, "I'm - I'm going to go..."   
  
"Wait!"   
  
Xena turned, complete numbness enveloping her.   
  
Aphrodite reached up and plucked the dark leather-bound album from the bookshelf, "Ar told me to give this to you before he left for Las Vegas."  
  
Xena frowned, taking the album offered to her, "Wh- Why would he want me to have this?"   
  
"I don't know," Aphrodite shrugged, "He's had that thing since 1967, you know. He's wearing flares at the back of the album-" She stopped, wiping tears from her eyes as a sob seized her, "It's really funny," she squeaked, turning away and weeping silently.   
  
"I'm going," Xena said, taking the book into her hands, her feet moving before she even thought where she was going. There was only one place she knew to go. She'd met him there, she'd grown to know him, to rely on him there. She couldn't even believe it, it wasn't real, still a joke. She went down the stairs that led to the resident carpark, to check on his car. Then she'd know it was a joke. As she hopped down the last of the stairs her feet skidded to a halt, nearly tumbling over herself as she tried to focus on what was in front of her. No... no!   
  
A white van sat with the door open, a man in a suit stacking things into it. In one box she saw a pile of records... She ran forward, grabbing the box in the car.   
  
"Lady! What are you doing? Please - get out of there!"   
  
"Wait!" she mumbled, flicking through the albums... Led Zeppelin, Queen, Pink Floyd, Frank Zappa, Hendrix, Cream, Deep Purple... these were his. She glared at the man, "Where did you get these?"   
  
"From Mr. Ioulianos' apartment, Miss," he said, "A few floors up. His sister was packing things up."   
  
"Do you know where he is?" she said, her eyes gleaming.   
  
The man's eyebrows danced as he looked from the box in his arms, to Xena's face, "I'm sorry Ma'am, I heard he died this morning."   
  
"No," she whimpered, shaking her head, turning and running. Her soul was racing, panicking. The ache in her throat spilt tears down her face, slipping away down her neck as she clutched the photo album in her hands, jumping into her car. Revving it up, she jerked it out of the carpark, speeding it down the highway towards town. Her heart thumped helplessly, tears blurring her vision. Sobs rose and fell in her throat as she mumbled to herself.   
  
"God no," she whispered, "No you can't, you can't do this to me you fucking son of a bitch!" She sniffled, rubbing at her nose, "That ain't right!! You can't, you can't!" Her sobs became choking, audible, long cries as wiped at her eyes, careening down the highway.   
  
She reached the night-club, parking her car haphazardly. She jumped out, running into the building, sweat building up against the leather book in her hands. As she thumped her way in the door, the female bar-maid from three days ago glanced up at her.   
  
"Oh Zena," she tilted her head, "Did you - did you hear?"   
  
Xena nodded absently, the tears in her eyes now spilling unchecked. She plodded to the bar, a great defeat washing over her... he was... he was gone...   
  
The faux ice-berg bar seemed empty. Black ribbons were tied around various bottles of alcoholic substances, in the bar, around a couple of taps in silent tribute. She sank down on a bar stool, sliding the album in front of her. Oh God... he was gone... Too soon! It was too soon damn it! She was - she was getting used to being her again and... she needed him around! She couldn't love him, oh God she loved him... This was stupid, it was just because he was dead. No! He couldn't be!! He was supposed to live forever! He was supposed to, that's what immortal meant! Living forever and ever!   
  
A straight whiskey was slid in front of her, and she glanced up. The woman behing the bar smiled through her own tears, patting Xena's shoulder gently.   
  
"You tell me if you need anything, okay?"   
  
Xena nodded numbly, until the girl's voice rose again.   
  
"Oh I nearly forgot!" The girl sighed, reaching behind the bar, "I caught him doodling this last night at the Hot Spandex gig, when he was waiting for your drinks... He screwed it up and threw it away but, I kinda wanted to know what it said so me being nosey me - I saved it..." She pulled the page out of her pocket, uncrumpling it, handing the dirty-white paper to her. "I cried when I saw it I - I knew you'd wanna have it. I was going to give it to you the other day but I forgot."   
  
Xena took the paper, a whimper forming in her throat as she saw it.   
  
"OHhhh," She shook her head, crumpling on the bar, sobbing silently. Even now as she closed her eyes, squinted them to combat the pain, the words were there plain as day, in his haphazard yet elegantly beautiful hand. He wrote it, such a sentimental and foolish page of scribbles that tore her heart up at once.   
  
'Zena Wohlters. Arran Ioulianos. Zena Ioulianos. I love Zena Wohlters. Zena Wohlters-Ioulianos. Zena Ioulianos Wohlters..."   
  
She had to stop reading, looking away. The bar-maid would stroke her arm tenderly, silently.   
  
"The funniest thing... he spelt your name with an 'X' at the end there... I always thought it was a 'Z'..."   
  
Xena glanced down to the page... yes at the end.   
  
"... Zena loves Arran? Arran loves Xena."   
  
"Fuck," she sighed, cradling her face, eyes stinging as she wept.   
  
"I know," breathed the barmaid, "As I said - I'll be over here if you need me."   
  
Xena nodded, eyes looking over the lovelorn scribblings. Ares did this... Ares... God of War Ares, bastard Ares that would never say he loved her... who did say he loved her and she - she never believed it. She pulled open the album suddenly. Aphrodite was right, the flares - oh they were so funny... Oh Gods she forgot his long hair. In one photo he was grinning, at the beach, beautifully tanned body gleaming in the LA sun, Aphrodite hanging against him with smooth long hair in a pink string bikini. 1970, it was labelled. She flicked forward through the book, looks changing, faces staying the same. How hadn't she noticed that before when Dite showed her? Maybe the different wardrobe threw her... oh God...  
  
She dropped the book on the bar, her hand tight over her mouth as she closed her eyes, a long moan growing in her. She opened them again, venturing to look down. That damned - that damn morning. That one morning and he pulled out the polaroid. She assumed he wanted to take dirty pictures. He grabbed her, she'd struggled, not too enthuseastic of having her pink bits on film and he just - grinned and clicked. She'd been giggling... he'd tickled her. And then this was the result. Gabrielle had been right. She'd - she'd been happy with him. She frowned, her eyes floating over the next page. Two drawings? No... printed word... Very old printed word. From a book? It was smudged. Ares, God of War, Xena - Warrior... Princess. She ran her fingers over the plastic protecting the paper, her brows tilting up.   
  
She'd been dead. Many times, she had been dead. Ares was dead, and he could be not dead, like her. She shoved the scribblings into the album and the album into her jacket, waving to the barmaid.   
  
"Seeya," she shouted, racing out the door.   
  
Arran had spoken to her a lot of his family. She remembered he'd spent most of his time trying to escape their influences. This had been before. Now she realised the trap that was being of a Pantheon for millenia, and suddenly not being of one. Being an integral part of a unit, being incomplete without them, and finally alone, struggling for some sense of identity whilst being tempted back to the easy slot in the place of family. Arran, Ares' bond with his family was deeper than she ever realised.   
  
The place was amongst the estates in Beverly Hills. Protected, a palace among mansions, riches there being carefully gathered and nurtured for thousands of years.   
  
She screeched the car to a halt at the gate as a guard stepped out, his face a wrinkle of regret. He shook his head, waving his hand at her.   
  
"Miss, no visitors today."   
  
Xena frowned, "I'm not a visitor. I'm-" She stopped herself, wiping at a tear angrily, "I'm Arran's girlfriend."   
  
The guard frowned at her, shaking his head, "I'm sorry, family only."   
  
A panic rose in her and she dug into her jacket.   
  
"For God's sakes look!" She said, flipping open the album.   
  
The guard looked at it, blinking slowly and nodding.   
  
"I apologize," he said, "Unless it's an emergency, I'm going to have to ask you to leave, the family is in a real state right now..."   
  
"It is!" she grit her teeth, temper flaring, "Arran is dead and I want to see his fucking father, you got that?!"   
  
The guard paled, "Awright awright." He turned, disappearing inside the little booth to the side of the estate, and the black wrought iron gate opened slowly. She revved the car impatiently, closing the album in her lap, and with a lurch she sent the car down the driveway, braking it with a similar lurch out the front of the main entrance. She held the album as she ran out of the car, up the steps of the house. She thumped the door wildly, wiping at her tears roughly, getting rid of them as best she could. The door opened, a little woman standing in the door.   
  
"Hello, yes? Oh," She looked Xena up and down, "I sorry, Madam, no visitors today."   
  
"Please," she sighed, "Let me in, I have to speak to Arran's father."   
  
"Mr. Ioulianos speak to nobody today," she said in broken english, "He very sad, his son die."   
  
Xena stomped a foot, rolling her eyes, "I know, I was - I was his very close friend, I knew him for nearly ten years. Please - let me in."   
  
"Carla, who is it?"   
  
The woman turned around, backing away as the stalwart but courtly Jésus Ioulianos stood in the doorway, barely the same height as Xena. He rose a peppered brow, his face hung as if he were disturbed but the terrible grief Xena felt she certainly saw missing in his eyes.   
  
"I'm Xena," she said, "Zena Wohlters... I don't know if Arran ever mentioned me-"   
  
"Xena?" said the man softly, "Of course, of course. Come in."   
  
Xena walked into the foyer of the large mansion, her footsteps echoing around her, "Listen, I'm not sure what's going on, but if you know the right people or whatever - you gotta bring him back... holy shit this place is huge..."   
  
Zeus glanced around him, pursing his lips and nodding only a moment, "I'm - I'm very sorry Xena. Ares has passed on and there - there isn't anything I can do." He closed his eyes, his lips wrinkling with destraught quivers, "Such a waste..."   
  
Her wandering gaze shot back to him, fiery and direct, "Bullshit. I heard Aphrodite and Denise talking. The Fates - they're in a mental institution or something - they took him! They better bring him back or by God..."   
  
Zeus' eyes fell shut and he shook his head slowly, leaning against a balustrade.   
  
"It isn't possible. He is in Purgatory now. He had an appointed time to improve himself, and he wasted his chance at life."   
  
"He didn't!" Xena exclaimed softly, "He - he played sports and he made love and he drank and made friends and we loved him! I loved him..."   
  
"He didn't change," Zeus said, "He didn't give of himself."   
  
Anger errupted inside her, "No one showed him how to! NO one gave him a chance! Not even me! Everyone needs a chance to be shown the way. I mean - how can you change for the better if no one will set an example?! And and - believe in you!"   
  
"He had plenty of time for that, Xena," he said, "It breaks my heart to see this happen but it is the price he pays for his all-too long life of cruelty and torment."   
  
Xena felt a growl grow within her, fists clenching at the man, "Bring him back!"   
  
Zues closed his eyes, sighing and shaking his head, "Even if you were to convince the Fates, there is nothing they can do. They lack the powers we do. They merely make the choice. I'm sorry, Xena, he is gone."   
  
The rich scent of pine bombarded her as she stood in the courtyard that seemed to drop away into simulated woodland, just like their homeland of Greece. She stepped out, and something in her heart swooned at the masses of greenery. Zeus shuffled at the french doors leading out to the courtyard.   
  
"You may walk through the estate for a time before you leave," he said, "See where Ares had spent his time here. He was always very fond of you, Warrior Princess. I do believe he would have liked to have shown this place to you."   
  
Xena glanced back at the older man, nodding once before stepping onto the grass and towards the woodlands beyond a landscaped waterfall leading down into a huge garden pond. More like a garden lake, she mused to herself. She walked over a little bridge of tied logs, her feet causing wood to creak against rope. She imagined Ares walking over the bridge in the trim and neat clothes of a 1912 gentleman. She found it hard though, with his burly wild nature, she could never imagine him being restrained as that.   
  
Ahead was a lush green alcove that almost glowed in the early morning sunlight. She frowned, a white shape gleaming in the light. She wound through the garden, though an opening in a thicket, and now saw the statue that centred the clearing. Her heart froze at the sight of it, tears spilling down her face.   
  
Arcing her body back, swathed in ripples of cloth, was an angel, her wings spread with magnificence, head thrust back, arms reaching up to the sky. The marble she was carved from was immaculate, intricate grey veins running through it creating a gentle contrast, accentuating form and shape.   
  
She sank down at the trimmed grass at the statues base, gazing up at it as she clutched the album she'd been given to her chest. She could almost remember being an angel herself once, soaring in the heavens, feeling free and so light. Of course, she also knew the kind of idiots up there in heaven... idiots that had her... had her... something, good friend or something. Whatever the hell he was, she wanted him back, so she could take her time and figure out what she wanted to do with him. Oh God she missed him so much.   
  
She looked at the curves of the stone wings above her, representations of the God that took over the ones she'd known and despised for so long, promising love and understanding in the world.   
  
"I believed in you," she breathed, her voice rough from crying, "I fought for you. I was one of your warriors. And now what?" She winced, tears swelling again, "I'm here, alone. Callisto - she's more fucked up than she ever was before! This is what we get for serving you?" She shook her head, a tear-ridden sigh leaving her, "I'm tired of this. Thank you, for giving me my friends Joxer and Gabrielle another life together. But WHY bring me into it when I'm happier as someone ELSE? And WHY take the one person away that I felt a real connection with? Why?" She shook her head again, "I just... I want Ares back."   
  
A darkness swelled in her belly, pulling it down as a realisation dawned on her slowly. He - he wasn't coming back. She couldn't bring him back, now was no longer a time of magic. She knew no Gods, there was no more ambrosia. Ares had become a man with an extraordinarily long life. And it had been taken. Pulling herself up, she cuddled the album to her, glancing to the glowing white statue a last time.   
  
"Thanks anyway." 


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven: The Lengthy Farewell   
  
  
  
She hated funerals. They were, by nature, depressing awful things. The Ioulianos family had loped down the main thoroughfare of the high-class cemetery behind the black casket bedecked in blood-red roses sitting neatly in the back of the herse. There was soft wailing and weeping. Aphrodite had calmed down by now, looking incredibly chic in a little dress and veiled hat. Discord, obviously, didn't have to change for the occasion. Through the whole thing, a numbness had settled upon her. Her eyes stang too much, the tears cried out from a night of crying herself hoarse with her dog looking rather worried. She watched old Bruce Lee movies. It was the first time a blatantly unhairy asian man had ever reminded her of someone like Arra- Ares. But the expert moves, the lust for the fight. It was all him. She wrinkled her nose as the scent of blood and bone fertilizer wafted past, mixing with the expensive perfume of the Once-Gods in front of her, crowded around a black tombstone. She kept back, watching Gabrielle and Joxer in the corner of her eye. Joxer was hit bad. His friendship with Ares, though new, seemed to be a lasting one, as far as Ares being invited into his musical unit. >From what she'd heard from Gabrielle, that was something special.   
  
She had watched the priest babble about God, about Ares. She tried not to snigger as he described Ar's picturesque childhood. Slaughtering piglets at eight years of age, she chuckled to herself mentally. When the sting of tears came, she sighed. Of course no tears could fall. There weren't any left.   
  
The priest threw dirt into the hole in the ground, and one by one people stepped past, throwing dirt in, shedding tears. The priest looked to her as she stared dully at the hole where the pretty looking box sat. She bent down, grasping the moist soil. She uncurled her hand, looking at the patterns her fingers left in it. With a clench of her teeth, she threw the dirt aside, shaking her head. She wouldn't bury him.   
  
The heavy cardboard of his photo-album dug into her hip as she walked over to a dark red park bench just a few yards from his grave under the shade of an old reaching oak, and she held onto it through the fabric of her clothes, watching the family of Ares walk away, to put a close to their heavy grieving. The contrasting frames of her best friends clad in black approached her, their faces soft.   
  
"Hey," said Gabrielle, "You going to the wake?"   
  
Xena snorted, "Why? Hi Mrs. Demeter. Yeah I'm sad Ares died, though I understand you hated his guts? No point."   
  
Joxer frowned, slipping an arm around Gabrielle absently, "Well - you might learn some cool stuff about what he's been doing these past five thousand years."   
  
Xena looked up to Joxer darkly, "I'm going to sit here and mope for far longer than I should."   
  
Gabrielle sighed, "Xena-"   
  
"Gabrielle," the woman countered in her deep husky tone, "I'll be fine. You two go do whatever it is you do. Play scissor's paper rock or whatever."   
  
Gabrielle rolled her eyes, taking Joxer's hand and pulling him along, "I haven't played that with him for hours and hours, don't know what you're talking about."   
  
Xena felt a smile creep to her face, and she nodded, "Kay."   
  
Gabrielle leant forward, placing a kiss on her friend's forehead, "Be strong."   
  
Xena nodded, looking to Joxer as he leant over and kissed Xena on the cheek.   
  
"Um," he frowned, "Just - don't be here too long. Ares was a fun guy, he wouldn't have liked that."   
  
"Ares was an egotist," Xena said, "He would want me throwing myself into the grave screaming 'Why God Why?' if we're going to play that game..."   
  
Joxer winced, "You're probably right. How about - I don't like you staying here too long?"   
  
Xena smiled a little, "That sounds about right."   
  
He nodded, "Kay. Call us if you need us - we're at Gab's house okay?"   
  
"Okay - get lost already," the brunette smiled, waving her friends off.   
  
They walked lazily down the brick-paved path that wound through the peaceful yards of the cemetery, Gabrielle glancing back and waving.   
  
"Bye!!"   
  
"Bye!" Xena called back.   
  
So she looked back to the grave, and just... looked at it. She wasn't sure how long she had been doing that. Sitting there, staring. Taking it in. She fingered the book in her pocket. Sometimes, she'd pull it out, flipping through. She would gaze at the photo of them together. The only thing she had of them like that. She even found Gabrielle's drawing of him back a couple of pages. Her heart ached as she fought to remember little expressions he'd do as he spoke. She wanted to remember him perfectly. Other people's faces blended with her memories, diluted them. She kept looking at the photo's, refreshing them.   
  
She had hated him once. For a long time, she had despised him... but always alive in her was a feral yearning. How could that have changed to what she had so recently? How could she have built the friendship she'd had with him on the ferocity they'd shared towards each- well what she had directed at him unless he'd - he'd changed?   
  
Or... had she changed?   
  
The heavy weight of someone sitting - no practically throwing - themselves down on the bench disturbed her. She slid aside, grumbling to herself. She was trying to grieve, and some jerk in dirty black clothes was intruding.   
  
"Fuck," said the deep voice, "I missed my funeral."   
  
Xena's eyes shot wide, grabbing the bench, glaring at the man next to her, "WUH-"   
  
Large brown eyes looked back, so tired, luscious lips surrounded in goatee and accompanied by five o'clock shadow. Her mind couldn't soak it all in, she could barely speak!   
  
"YOU- You BASTARD!" she growled, pointing at him, "You did this! YOU!"   
  
He sniggered, slapping his thigh, "Fuck, I wish I did! That would have been cool..."   
  
Her heart soared ridiculously as he scratched behind his ear sleepily. The shock in her broke just enough, her body falling forward, desperate hands clutching his face, lips seeking out his and caressing him hungrily with gleeful moans. She straddled him absently as she hauled herself into his lap. OH she didn't care about anything else - he was HERE! He was - he was here?! She pulled back, sucking in a breath of air.   
  
"HOW?" she gasped, "I mean - WHAT- HOW?!" She glared at the coffin and pointed, "WHO?!"   
  
Ares shrugged with another tired smile, "I don't know who is in that grave, but it ain't me. Hopefully it's the jerk that stole my car."   
  
Logic fell into place as she glared at the grave, then back to him, a huge grin taking her face, "Someone stole your car?"   
  
Ares nodded, "I had to hitch-hike from half-way to Las Vegas, and I tell you what - that's not a nice ride to take on what I had. I left my wallet in the car - so I had my bag that I took into the toilet, and no ID." He looked Xena up and down with amusement as she cackled, slapping her thigh, shaking her head. "What's so funny?"   
  
"Somebody STOLE your CAR!!" she giggled, "HAhahaha!!"   
  
He blushed, glancing around, "Yeah. well-"   
  
"How did you know we thought you were dead?!"   
  
He wrinkled his nose, "You tend to notice your name in the obituary."   
  
"You're that egotistical that you look for your own name in the obituary?" she said, raising a brow.   
  
He gave a cock of a lip as he met her wry gaze, "Well I'm broke in some desert hole of a town, sleeping in someone's garage. What else am I going to do but read my blanket to get me to sleep?"   
  
"Oh!" She pulled him into a hug, kissing the side of his head, "Serves you right for almost being dead."   
  
He blinked at her.   
  
She sighed with long relief, the dead tears filling her eyes again, "I was so scared, Ar... I mean..." She looked down, solemnity calming her, "I just wanted you back. We said shit, I was going to leave and it was cause I was scared and I just, I figure I'd rather have you, and be pissed off with you and argue with you and love you and be with you than be lonely and empty and aching without you."   
  
He brought his hand up, running it softly along her jaw, "I'm not going anywhere, Xena."   
  
She smiled, tears rimming her eyes, "Good."   
  
He smiled back at her, pulling her down, sinking his lips into hers, pulling her up against him. He moaned a little, wriggling, finally pulling away. "What the hell *is* that digging into me?"   
  
"Oh," Xena looked down to her coat pocket, pulling out the album, "This..."   
  
As she held it up, a crumpled peice of dirty-white paper fell out, Ares catching it deftly. He frowned, unfolding it, his cheeks growing burnt red. He glared up at her, fear in his eyes.   
  
"Oh shit..." he held the paper in his shaking hands, "Where did you get this?"   
  
Xena frowned in bewilderment, her hand slipping over his and looking at it, "Lucy, the bar-maid gave it to me. Said you scribbled it down in Frostbites when you were waiting for our drinks."   
  
  
  
He nodded, folding it up, "I think I'm going to keep this-"   
  
"Oh no!" she grabbed at it, snatching it away, grinning whilst stuffing it down her little black top, "I'm keeping this one, it's a virtual sonnet! Arran loves Xena! Arran Ioulianos loooooves Zena Wohlters!"   
  
"Oh God," he buried his face in his hands a moment, and with a twitch, he started an assault on Xena's bust, "Gimme it!"   
  
The clip clop of heels cut through the clear summer morning, the beautiful couple battling on the bench oblivious to anything but each other.   
  
"Xena..." called the voice of the bard as she ran towards Arran's grave, pulling a tired looking Joxer along with her, "Have you seen my sunglasses? I swear I had them somewhere..." She glanced to Xena on the bench as she approached the grave, "Oh hi, Arran."   
  
Joxer shook his head, shoving his hands onto the pockets of his pants, "I'm sure it's in the car Gab-"   
  
He stopped, double taking at the bench, his jaw hanging, Gabrielle frowning in bewilderment and getting up, lifting a finger and silently turning to look back at Xena. Her eyes grew wide and she gasped.   
  
"AR!"   
  
She let out a joyous cry, Joxer racing forward with her, giving out an odd yelp of his own. Xena growled as the weight of her best friends crushed her as they battled to embrace Ares underneath her.   
  
"What are you doing here?" exclaimed Joxer, practically sitting on top of Xena, "Like - out of your coffin?!"   
  
"Someone stole his car and blew it up," Xena said, shifting her leg, "Joxer - that's my foot - thank you. Obviously the hicks that checked the remains in the car thought it was him."   
  
Gabrielle grinned, hugging Ares' head and kissing his cheek as Joxer thumped him on the back. The ex-War God winced, drowning under sidekicks.   
  
"Man, since when did you guys get so touchy-feely?"   
  
"Since you nearly got yourself blown up," Gabrielle growled, "Gods! Don't ever scare us like that again!"   
  
A dry look floated onto the ex-War God's face, and he looked back and forth from the trio that assaulted him with hugs and kisses, "You know this is really amazing, I thought you lot hated me..."   
  
Gabrielle smiled softly, her hand resting on his shoulder, squeezing it affectionately, "Not the Ares that I've known these past few years."   
  
Xena nodded, pursing her lips and squeezing the round of Ares' chin affectionately.   
  
"And uh," Joxer stood, clearing his throat and coughing, scratching behind his ear in the most macho way he could muster, "You're a great guitarist and I'd hate to have to find another one..."   
  
"Yeah, yeah," Ares nodded, wincing uncomfortably, "I get the idea - please get the fuck off me."   
  
Xena hit him, "Be polite you dead jerk."   
  
He blinked at her, "This is what I get for my ordeal in the depths of America?"   
  
"On that," she said, leaning on her hand propped on his shoulder and sighing wistfully, "We have to have to tell someone that there's the wrong dead guy in that casket eventually."   
  
"Later," muttered Ares, "Right now, I'm enjoying the moment."   
  
Xena let a calm smile take her, "So am I." 


	12. Chapter 12

Epilogue: It's a Kind of Magic   
  
  
  
Zena winced at her friend, poking at her own ear and nodding. Gabrielle, her hair piled on her head in an elegant roll, smiled and gave the thumbs up. Zena grinned, taking up her bourboun and coke that sat on the small table that was a mocked up doric column from Ancient Greece. She picked at the bowl of beernuts sitting there, watching the tall slender woman on stage bend back, singing her lungs out into the microphone. Gabrielle glanced to Zena, a crinkle in her brow. She dug in her purse, pulling out a pen and paper, scribbling on it.   
  
'These ear plugs are good.'   
  
She passed the pad to Zena, who spotted it, nodding. She took the offered pen from Gabrielle and scribbled down something, passing it back to Gabrielle.   
  
'Best idea since scroll toilet paper.'   
  
Gabrielle widened her eyes at the paper, scribbling down furiously, shoving it back. Zena glanced to it and smirked.   
  
'Gabrielle, it was a JOKE.'   
  
Gabrielle pulled it back, sighing and nodding. She tilted her head, a crinkle of thought forming in her brow. She wrote down more carefully, and passed it back.   
  
'Callisto can't remember being Eve, can she?'   
  
Xena's eyes fluttered over the words, her face growing soft. Her heart broke at the memory of the sweet little blue-eyed baby she'd mothered, the chasm left behind from her absense echoing on stronger than she ever thought it would. Grabbing the pen she wrote.   
  
'No. Only her life as Callisto.'   
  
Gabrielle read the words, her smile falling. She gazed at the pad a moment, visibly sighing.   
  
'It's sad. I miss Eve.'   
  
She looked to the stage, Callista jumping hard up and down on the stage, microphone stands shuddering at her violent actions. Xena smiled at the words on the paper, scribbling something back. Gabrielle turned the pad around, a smile taking her features.   
  
'Well, our little girl is on stage right now.'   
  
There was a rough attack of lead guitar, and glancing up they saw the woman of their conversation throwing glitter out from the stage to the dance floor packed with patrons, and grabbing an old television set from behind an amplifier, she let out a bloodcurdling scream, raising it high in the air, then throwing it down to the stage, the appliance smashing to peices, the blonde letting loose on it's plastic frame, dedicated to making it as broken as possible. She grabbed the mic then, screaming down into it again. At this last scream, amongst the delighted roar of her fans, the lights dropped. The cheer of the club was hearty, and Gabrielle and Zena clapped wildly with them, whistling and hooting. For the first time ever, pride welled at the thought of the blonde maniac she'd hated for so long.   
  
"Go CALLI!" cried Gabrielle.   
  
"That's MY LITTLE GIRL!" shouted Zena. She calmed a little, pulling the ear-plugs from her ears, winking at her best friend as she did the same.   
  
"Ugh... what a crowd... Takes half an hour to get a fucking drink."   
  
Gabrielle turned at the sharp voice, smiling, "Hey Denise."   
  
"Hi Gabrielle," she said drolly, sitting on the stool at the column-table uncomfortably, "God I hate the decor in this place. Like sitting on a toilet!"  
  
Zena sniggered.   
  
Denise shook her head, digging at her coke with a black straw, "You know, I swear all those years ago I did not think I'd be sitting here in a crappy bar drinking carbonated sugar-water with you two and complaining about what a shit time I'm having of it," she sighed, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag, "How the mighty have fallen."   
  
Gabrielle smirked to Zena, shaking her head, "Well remember it could be worse..."   
  
"Hi!"   
  
The high tone of Aphrodite cut through the rough mumbles of people in the bar, and Denise growled.   
  
"Go on Gabrielle, open your yappin' mouth!"   
  
"I'm not averted to hitting you," Zena said evenly.   
  
Denise eyed Zena, sidling away from her. The table bumped a little as Aphrodite arrived, dumping her hugely fluffy coat against it for a second.   
  
"I hate taxi drivers!" she sighed, "I can't wait till my car is out of the shop." The woman glanced to Denise scowling silently, raising a brow, "Gee, Denny, what crawled up your ass and died?"   
  
"That's what we'd like to know," Zena said, sipping at her drink. She watched the dark figures of the band move around on stage, setting up their gear. She saw one tall muscular shape turn, and through the dim lights shining on stage, she could see it waving at her. She smiled a little, waving back. Her heart floated a little. This was weird. She never thought that she'd be in this position, like this, one day. But... it was kind of cool. Above everything else, it was a relief.   
  
"Man, Dad is so fuming over the screw-up over Ar and the accident," Aphrodite said, shaking her head, "Like, he's so going to sue."   
  
"Cool," Denise gave a crooked grin, "I love watching cops get in trouble."   
  
"You're an odd girl, Denise," Gabrielle mumbled as she sipped her strawberry daquiri.   
  
Denise flourished her arms upwards, "This is me."   
  
Zena smiled, nudging Denise before the voice of her other best friend broke through chatter of the night-club, cutting off the between-set muzak. The lights went up to full intensity, shining on the five members of the band. Joxer straightened, gripping the mic and motioning to the man to his left.   
  
"Everyone, this is a very special night at the Temple Beat. I'd like to thank Hot Spandex for supporting us tonight-"   
  
The loud cheers of the night-club rose, and Joxer stopped, waited.   
  
"Right," he continued, "I thank them for their endless support of us. Um - Tonight we have a new guitarist, a rhythm and lead guitarist. I'd really love it if you could warmly welcome Arran Ioulianos!!"   
  
Arran stepped forward, nodding at the crowd and hefting his shining black guitar, silver slivers swimming over it like marble, smiling at the tenatively clapping crowd he couldn't see. He grinned though as a call cut through the cheers, loud and hollering.   
  
"AILILLILILLILIIEEEEEEEE!" Zena stretched her neck, clapping above her head. Gabrielle laughed, clapping along with her.   
  
Denise sank in her chair "You guys are so embarrassing."   
  
"Okay," Joxer grinned, "Enough of the Arran-worship. I would like to dedicate this first song to my friends that have been by my side longer than I care to try to remember. You guys rock."   
  
He turned, glancing to the band, nodding to Andrew, who tapped his foot, thumping the bass guitar, the trilling sixties sound of Meg's keyboard slipping in as Ian's drums burst into rhythm with the band.   
  
"Faaaaaaaaaaaace it! You can't haaaaaaaaaave it, it's all about something you waaaaaaaant," sang Joxer, clutching the mic, the music seizing him, "Waaaaaaaaannnt it - you gotta waaaaaaaant it. The babe in my mind was there and gone! She gotta be youuuuuuu! She got-TA got-TA got-TA! She gotta be youuuuuuu!"   
  
Arran attacked his guitar, a screaming lick twiddling and crying out passionately. Joxer nodded to Arran with the beat, plunging into song again.   
  
"She GOT-TA Got-TA..." he cried out, his voice falling to a lusty whisper that Gabrielle knew too well and revelled in, "She got-ta be you... she got-ta be be be be!"   
  
Meg threw her long black hair around, pounding the keyboard, dancing and shaking her behind, rocking hard to the tune.   
  
"BAaaay-bay! You blow me away with your MIND, Looooovleaaaay! I'm always in love with your KIND! Somethin' bout a girl who knows how to make me HAPPY to be heeeeere. Somethin' bout a girl who makes me happy to be NEAR nEAR .... OHhhhh Faaaaaaace it!! You can't haaaaaave it.... it's all about something you waaaaaaant. Waaaant it. You gotta gotta gotta - she gotta gotta. She gotta be youuuu! She GOT-ta got-ta got-ta. She gotta be you! OUgh! ough oughhhhh!"   
  
The moon was waning. It's full shape seemed a little leaner, and the sky wasn't as blanced by her blinding blue presence. She felt the warmth of the body next to her, a soft smile on her face. Such a newness she felt in this night, a bright brilliant newness that gave her hope. Real hope. Maybe finally things would be nearly normal for her. Hopefully not to normal.   
  
"The stars are pretty," sighed Gabrielle, "Even now, they're nice."   
  
Zena screwed her face at Gabrielle with a scoff, "Gabrielle you can't even see them with all the city lights!"   
  
"Yeah but," she tilted her head, "What we can see of them is still... pretty I guess."   
  
"I know what you mean," said Joxer, settling his head in the nape of Gabrielle's neck. Gabrielle smiled, adjusting herself on the grass.   
  
"Geez," she hissed, "This grass itches! How the hell did I sleep on the ground all the time back then?"   
  
"We slept on pelts, dummy," Zena smiled, her hand dipping into the coat of the man she leant on.   
  
"Now, you're sleeping on me," mumbled Arran.   
  
"I like that trade off," Zena said.   
  
She wasn't sure how long the four of them had been lying on the grass in the park near Arran's place, staring at the sky. They'd stumbled back from the gig, Ares high from the thrill of the performance, Joxer goofier than usual from the same. She was satisfied though, pleased with what she had. It wasn't perfect, but it was close.   
  
"Ares..." Arran glanced to Gabrielle, his attention caught by his old name, "Hmm?"   
  
"What happened to that 'till full moon' thing that Aphrodite was freaking out about?"   
  
He blinked, folding his arms behind his head, adjusting himself, "I don't know."   
  
"I mean," she sighed, "I think you've improved as a person since well - you know. I mean you're a lot less meaner."   
  
"He's a prick," Zena muttered.   
  
"Yes I am," Arran agreed, "But not the same kind of prick."   
  
"A better, improved brand of prick," suggested Joxer.   
  
There was an odd silence till sniggers burst out amongst the four, and Zena could hear Gabrielle thwapping Joxer affectionately. Zena sighed in a smile, running her hand over the fabric covering Ares' chest.   
  
"That's probably what saved you you know..."   
  
Ares shifted to look at her, running his fingertips through her hair. "I think you did."   
  
Gabrielle smiled, "Yeah."   
  
Joxer sighed, "See, Zena saves everyone. She's just this - everyone-saving person. What is WITH that? Is there anyone you don't save?!"   
  
Chuckles broke out amongst the group and Zena grinned.   
  
"Yeah I don't save real estate agents or lawyers."   
  
"But," Joxer lifted a hand, pointing, "If say - Ally McBeal were drowning - that wouldn't happen. She's too skinny to drown - she'd float! But say - if she were in danger-"   
  
Zena frowned with bewilderment, "Ar, did you slip him any of your 'special' cookies?"   
  
Gabrielle chuckled, "Joxer, shut up, you're not making sense."   
  
"Oh, I'm sorry," he shook his head, "I always do that."   
  
"It's okay," she said, "I love you for it."   
  
"Oh that's so tender, so romantic!" moaned Ares, "Oh I can't contain myself!" He rolled over, attacking Zena with his lips, moaning ridiculously.   
  
"Oh it's an ORGY!" cried Joxer, throwing himself onto Gabrielle.   
  
"Get off!" howled Zena through her laughter, "Gargh! Fucking musicians!"   
  
"Hey!" giggled Joxer, "That's what we are! We're musician and we're-Ow!"   
  
"Joxer, put it away!"   
  
"I'm so glad it's dark," sighed Ares, rolling off Zena, cuddling her to him, "If I saw that I'd be scarred for life."   
  
"Oh no," Gabrielle cooed, "It's marvellous."   
  
"I really don't wanna know," he groaned back at the bard.   
  
Giggles died down, and silence fell upon them. The warm glow of contentment swallowed Zena up again, and she stole a glance to her best friend. Gabrielle grinned back at her, giving her a thumbs up before gazing back at the sky soaked with city light.   
  
"You were good tonight, Ar," Zena said suddenly, "On stage, in the band."   
  
Ares tilted his head a little, "Thanks. I like playing music. It's one of the closest things to sex."   
  
Xena hadn't had a chance to groan before Gabrielle piped up.   
  
"That's why Joxer's so good at it."   
  
"Oh shut UP about that!" howled Ares above a sudden chuckle from Zena.   
  
"I would like to say that I'm officially embarrassed," mumbled Joxer.   
  
"You and me both," muttered Ares.   
  
She smiled at the sky above them, the foliage and branches of the night-cloaked trees framing the deep blue glittering vista, the tiny little orbs that somehow governed destiny managing to wink at them through the thick Los Angeles sky. She was lucky. SO damned lucky. She doubted the moment could be any more perfect.   
  
"I love you guys," sighed Zena.   
  
Joxer sighed back at her, "We love you too, Zena."   
  
"I concur," said Gabrielle.   
  
"I don't," Ares said.   
  
The silence came back. That bastard.   
  
"You *are* a prick," said Joxer.   
  
She smiled, tightening her hold on him, knowing that anything else from him wouldn't have been him at all. "I love him anyway."   
  
His voice lifted from his chest, the sound rumbling through to where her ear rested. "I was kidding you know. I really do love you."   
  
Zena nodded, "I know."   
  
Yeah. He had changed, but he was still Ares.   
  


The End


End file.
